UC-NRLF 


B    3    327    31b 


[FLOWER »r  FRANCE) 

/SS&MQ  J^£S  C^tKCN 


A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 


Bv   MARAII   ELLIS  RYAN. 


SQUAW  LLOUISE 


A   PAGAN   OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES. 


TOLD   IN  THE   HILLS. 


IN    LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

A  Trilogy. 

MERZE ; 

The   Story  of  an   Actress. 


Issued    iq   the   "  RlALTO   SERIES." 
For  Sale  at  all   Booksellers'  and   News  Stands. 


RAND,    MCNALLY    &   COMPANY,    PUBLISHERS, 


CHICAGO    AND    NEW    YORK 


A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE 


U  V 

MARAH    ELLIS    RYAN, 

// 

AUTHOR   OK 

Toi.n  IN   THE  HILLS,"  "  SQUAW  ELOUISE,"  "A  PACAN  <>K  TIIK 
ALLEGHANIES,"  "  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS," 
"  MERZE,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO  : 
RAND,  McNALLY   &  COMPANY. 

1894. 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY  RAND,  McNALLv  &  Co. 
All  Rights  Reserved. 


Flower  of  France. 


THIS, 

A   STORY   OF   OUR   SOUTH    LANDS, 


TO 


WITH    THE    EARNEST    FRIENDSHIP    OF 

THE   AUTHOR. 


M24632 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 

Prologue.    The  Insurrection,  - 
I.    The  Brand  of  the  Fleur-de-lis, 
II.    Venda, 

III.  Two  Strangers  from  France, 

IV.  "  Master,  Buy  Me  !  " 

V.    An  Evening  with  Monsieur  Lamort,  - 
VI.    The  Next  Morning, 
VII.    Denise  of  the  Convent, 
VIII.    The  Man  Rochelle, 
IX.    The  Voudou, 
X.    Echoes  from  the  Past, 
XI.    The  Wooing  of  Ninon, 
XII.    Diego  Zanalta    Lays  Plans  and   Sefiora 
Zanalta  Speaks  Her  Mind, 

XIII.  Monsieur  Lamort  Pays  a  Visit, 

XIV.  Diego  Sees  a  Ghost, 
XV.   Venda,       - 

XVI.    A  Rendezvous, 
XVII.    Denise  and  Sister  Andrea, 
XVIII.   Once  More  Zizi,    - 


PAGE. 

9 

'9 

33 

49 

63 

73 

1  1  1 


179 
202 
229 

244 
261 

271 
277 
289 
3°3 
307 


(7) 


A  FLOWER   OF    FRANCE. 


PROLOGUE.;,  \ 

THE    INSURRECTION. 

THE  golden  light  of  morning  crept  through  the 
pale  curtains  of  vapor  that  were  .spread  over  the 
bayous  north  of  Orleans  Island.  The  awakening 
beams  gilded  the  gray-green  festoons  of  moss-draped, 
century-old  cypresses,  and  touched  caressingly  the 
white-winged  herons  that  rose  softly  from  shadowy 
wood-depths  and  took  silent  ilight  outward  and 
upward  in  the  October  air.  A  flock  of  vultures, 
many  as  a  gathering  of  crows  in  autumn,  sailed  low 
over  the  swamps  and  with  outstretched  necks  reached 
eagerly  toward  the  west,  where  the  mighty  river  of 
the  New  World  dragged  its  way  to  the  sea  through 
many  channels.  Occult  sounds  drifted  along  the 
brown  waters  of  the  bayous  —  smothered,  misty 
sounds  of  forest  creatures.  Now  and  then  the  shrill 
scream  of  a  bird  would  cut  sharply  across  the  hum 
ming  song  of  the  insects  and  the  soft  rustle  of  the 
reeds,  and  again  the  muffled  howls  of  animals  would 
come  across  the  vast  levels  and  warn  one  of  dangers 
lurking  in  the  savage  gloom  of  the  forests. 

Small  wonder  if  the  slave  of  the  Afric  coast  and 

(9) 


10  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

the  courtier  from  the  French  court  alike  dreaded 
the  jungles  of  that  vast  unsurveyed  portion  of  New 
France  stretching  north  and  east  from  the  little  set 
tlement  of  Acadians,  and  west  past  the  domains  of 
the  weak  and  friendly  Alibamon  race,  and  into  the 
huritdng-groujid^pf  the  fierce  nations. 

Demons  6f  Ifrdtian*  superstition  and  the  avenging 
.-gQ(Js'from*A;^c  Ja#d*were  known  to  lurk  just  out 
side  the  c'ulfivalrett  'plantations  and  hurl  strange  ills 
on  the  colonist  who  dared  to  tempt  fate  by  sleeping 
in  the  perfumed  shadows  of  those  mysterious  depths. 
But  past  the  myrtle  and  orange  orchards  (mementos 
of  the  banished  Jesuits)  a  pirogue  drove  through  the 
clear  brown  water  of  Bayou'  Petite  and  headed 
toward  the  places  of  dread,  slipping  through  the 
willows  where  each  sinuous  belt  of  water  entered 
seemed  just  like  the  one  left  behind. 

No  other  canoe  was  seen  on  the  waters  that  morn 
ing.  Never  a  boatman  of  France  or  of  Spain  called 
greeting  across  the  levels.  Of  all  the  colonists,  no 
others  were  without  the  gates  of  the  town  that 
morning,  where,  in  the  Place  d'Armes,  an  excited, 
gesticulating  mass  thronged.  Cheers  for  the 
King  of  France  sounded  under  the  windows  of  the 
Spanish  governor,  while  the  tricolor  was  run  aloft 
and  floated  gracefully,  dreamily  over  the  insurrec 
tionists,  who  consisted  of  the  French  Creoles,  the  Aca 
dians  who  had  sought  rest  in  the  warm  delta  lands 
of  the  Mississippi,  Alsatians  cajoled  to  the  New 
World  by  that  most  clever  of  Scotchmen,  John  Law, 
and  the  few  "  Amcricains  "  who  had  drifted  down 
ward  on  the  water  from  Kentucky  and  entered  into 


THE   INSURRECTION.  11 

trade  and  barter  between  the  eolonists  and  Indians. 
Coming  thus  within  the  lists  of  merchants  restricted 
by  the  hated  laws  of  Spain,  laws  suited  so  ill  to  the 
struggling  life  of  the  new  country,  dissatisfied,  the 
seed  of  revolution  had  been  sown,  and  they  had 
arisen  as  one  man  to  drive  out  the  representatives 
of  Spanish  dominion,  to  whom  their  beloved  France 
had  faithlessly  sold  them  six  years  before. 

They  were  as  children ;  those  warm-blooded, 
impetuous,  but  not  persevering  Creoles;  children 
cast  off  by  the  mother-land,  to  whom  their  loving 
hearts  turned  pathetically ;  children  made  reckless 
and  quick  to  suspicion  by  the  knowledge  that  their 
homes  and  their  hearts  were  the  playthings  cf  those 
two  kings  across  the  ocean,  and  that  they  were  sold 
to  a  new  master  as  completely  as  were  the  girls  and 
boys  from  Africa  whom  they  themselves  bought 
from  the  slavers  of  the  Mexican  sea.  Yet,  incon 
sistent  as  children  or  as  mobs,  it  was  the  buyer 
against  whom  their  wrath  had  arisen,  while  voices, 
French,  Acadian,  creole,  called  under  the  tricolor 
the  huzzas  for  fair  France,  blessings  on  the  good 
Louis  (Louis  XV. !),  the  selfish,  unscrupulous  figure 
head  of  a  nation. 

Such  was  the  picture  lit  by  the  sunrise  that  Octo 
ber  morning  of  1768.  The  first  blow  against  foreign 
dominion  in  the  American  colonies  was  being  aimed 
there  by  the  American  Creoles  of  Louisiana,  who, 
having  no  flag  of  their  own,  waved  the  beloved  tri 
color  and  fancied  it  a  symbol  of  freedom. 

And  back  of  the  master  race  thronged  the  blacks, 
three  to  one  of  the  colonists,  and  heard  their  mas- 


12  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

ters  demand  freedom,  and  looked  at  each  other  with 
memories  of  Guinea  showing  in  their  soft,  black, 
velvet-like  eyes,  and  wondered  if  the  change  of  the 
flags  would  lighten  the  chains  they  felt  the  weight 
of  so  often  —  a  weight  they  bent  under,  they  and  their 
children,  for  a  hundred  years  longer. 

"  The  town  is  ours,  yet  not  a  life  has  been  lost  to 
gain  it,"  said  the  youngest  of  those  revolutionary 
leaders,  the  ardent  Bienville,  as  he  smiled  at  the 
array  of  arms  carried  by  their  men,  an  equipment 
of  old  muskets,  staves,  clubs,  knives  —  anything  and 
everything  —  gathered  to  emphasize  their  demands 
for  the  exodus  of  Charles  III.  of  Spain  in  the 
person  of  his  governor.  But  Foucault,  the  crafty, 
who  stood  near,  heard  the  young  enthusiast's  words, 
and  lifted  his  head  in  quick  remembrance  of  one 
unseen. 

"  De  Bayarde,  where  is  he  ?  "  he  asked  ;  and  the 
faces  near  turned  to  each  other. 

"  Who  has  seen  him  since  the  dawn  ? "  asked  some 
one  else.  "  He  was  then  beside  me  near  Tchoupi- 
toulas  gate,  he  and  the  boy.  Did  he  not  enter  with 
us,  he  so  delighted  ?  " 

Foucault 's  face  grew  dark.  The  delighted  ones 
-the  enthusiasts  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  — they 
make  excellent  tools  for  the  plotter  they  trust. 

"  Find  Hector  de  Bayarde,"  he  said  ;  and  a  little 
later  some  one  brought  word  he  was  not  within  the 
town  —  more,  that  a  young  Acadian  volunteer  had 
seen  him  fall  near  the  gate,  struck  by  some  missile, 
but  that  he  had  arisen,  said  it  was  nothing,  and 
leaned  on  the  banquette  as  the  others  marched 


THE   INSURRECTION.  13 

through.  Then  all  else  had  been  forgotten  in  the 
rush  of  the  insurgents.  Where  the  missile  came 
from  no  one  could  tell,  but  the  missile  itself  was 
found,  a  broken  bowlder  the  size  of  a  man's  clenched 
hand,  and  along  its  sharp  edge  was  the  stain  of 
blood  scarce  dried.  The  mark  of  a  bloody  hand 
was  left  on  the  gate,  as  though  one  had  staggered 
there  in  passing  out ;  but  that  was  the  last  trace 
left. 

And  the  missing  one  ? 

He  lay  in  the  pirogue  threading  Bayou  Petite  as 
the  sun  arose.  But  he  saw  none  of  its  glories.  He 
did  not  see  even  the  falling  tears  of  the  boy  who 
paddled  with  all  his  strength  through  the  still 
brown  water,  nor  noted  the  smothered  sobs  that 
must  have  reached  his  ears. 

He  lay  with  closed  eyes,  the  lids  quivering  at 
every  rough  motion  of  the  boat.  Blood-stained  was 
the  rough-hewn  sides  of  the  tiny  vessel,  blood 
stained  the  yellow  ruffle  at  his  neck,  the  brown 
cloth  of  his  coat,  and  death  seemed  to  have  touched 
his  pale  forehead. 

"  Basil,"  he  whispered,  <%  my  little  one,  have  we 
not  yet  arrived  ?  " 

And  the  "  little  one,"  who  was  perhaps  ten  years 
of  age,  shook  back  the  fair  curls  from  his  face,  and 
controlled  his  voice  to  reply. 

"  Not  quite,  papa,  but  soon." 

Each  spoke  in  the  tongue  of  France,  the  polished 
intonations  of  the  man  suggesting  the  usages  of  a 
different  life  than  that  found  in  the  cabins  of  the 
colonists.  But  the  boy's  speech  was  not  so  pure  ;  he 


14  A   FLOWER   OK   FRANCE. 

seemed  a  pretty  Acadian  peasant  doing-  the  will  of 
some  grand  marquis ;  yet  their  tones  held  love  as 
they  spoke  to  each  other. 

"But  it  must  be  soon,  very  soon,  Basil,"  he  mur 
mured,  "  else  it  will  be  too  late.  Do  not  weep.  You 
are  .  .  .  my  brave  one ;  you  will  ...  in  other 
years,  perhaps,  carry  a  sword  for  the  France  ... 
I  love  .  .  .  and  your  mother  loved.  You  will 
remember?  Our  love  will  watch  over  you,  and  you 
must  work  for  France." 

The  halting  whispered  words  were  so  low  —  so 
low  !  but  the  boy's  ears  were  keen. 

"  Yes,  I  will  remember,"  he  said.  "  Rest  now,  and 
maybe  when  we  return  the  good  physician — " 

"  No,  it  will  not  be.  You,  .  .  .  my  boy,  will  be 
my  physician ;  .  .  .  you  will  help  me  to  die  .  .  . 
in  peace.  Ah!  the  way  i:;  long." 

"We  have  arrived."  And  the  boy  guided  the 
pirogue  gently  to  the  slight  beach  of  sand,  where 
thickets  of  willow  threw  shadows  of  pale  leaves  in 
the  water,  and  a  little  up  from  the  wet  shore  a 
rock,  huge,  upright,  and  solitary,  arose  like  a  sentinel 
over  the  jungles. 

"  We  have  arrived,"  he  repeated  ;  and  his  tears  fell 
on  the  hand  stained  that  deathly  red.  "  Papa  —  tell 
me,  what  is  it  I  must  do  ? " 

"  Take  the  shovel,  dig  deep  close  to  the  white  side 
of  the  rock  ;  deep,  so  no  waters  will  wash  it  away." 

It  —  the  boy  did  not  know  what  that  meant.  In 
his  heart  he  thought  his  father  was  made  mad  by 
that  murderous  blow  in  the  dusk  at  the  gate  of  the 
town.  He  had  seen  one  who  was  mad  in  the  sum- 


THE   INSURRECTION.  15 

mer  just  past  —  a  slave  brought  from  over  the  sea  — 
and  he  had  been  shot  just  as  a  dog-  had  been  that 
went  mad  once  there  in  the  town.  Basil  knew,  he  had 
heard,  and  his  fright  had  been  great  when  his  father 
also  spoke  as  though  in  madness  and  asked  for  a 
pirogvie,  while  the  blood  unheeded  blinded  him. 
Surely  he  was  mad,  but  were  the  silent  bayous  not 
preferable  to  that  crowded  town  where  the  people 
shouted,  where  they  might  shoot  him  if  they  knew 
it,  as  they  had  shot  the  slave  and  the  dog  ? 

Basil  thought  so,  and  with  his  little  heart  filled  with 
fear,  and  with  the  foreshadowing  of  a  great  grief 
over  him,  he  did  as  he  was  told,  manfully  striving  to 
hasten  the  lifting  away  of  the  heavy  sand,  fashion, 
ing  a  hqle  there  deep  as  his  father  wished. 

And  then  he  saw  what  it  was  to  contain,  a  decan 
ter  of  glass,  a  thing  he  had  delighted  to  play  with 
when  he  was  quite  little  ;  but  now  it  was  filled  with 
paper  instead  of  sweet  syrups,  and  the  sparkling 
stopper  was  tied  down  with  strands  of  hemp  black 
with  tar.  It  did  not  look  pretty  as  of  old,  but  the 
man  touched  it  lovingly. 

"  Wrap  it  in  the  tar-painted  cloth  you  found  with 
the  boat,"  he  whispered.    "So!    Now  set  it  there  — 
deep  —  by  the  great  rock ;  cover  all ;  then  I  will  tell 
you  ;  but  —  hasten." 

The  little  hands  smoothed  effectually  all  signs  of 
disturbance  of  the  soil.  His  father  could  not  see ; 
he  was  simply  trusting  that  all  was  clone  as  he 
asked ;  and  the  boy  was  faithful. 

"  It  is  done.  What  more?  "  he  asked,  and  Hector 
de  Bayarde's  hand  raised  as  though  blessing  him. 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 


"  My  brave  one,"  he  said,  "  we  will  go  back  now. 
Once  more  I  may  see  the  tricolor  waving  alone  in 
our  new  land.    Go  gently.   ...    I  will  tell  you,  . 
and  we  will  go  back.     Do  you  listen  ?  " 

And  as  the  pirogue  crept  gently  back  through  the 
willows  the  boy  heard  without  being  conscious  of 
the  significance  weighting  his  father's  words. 

He  had  heard  them  so  often  —  so  often  —  those 
words  of  the  two  kings  across  the  water  ;  of  the  two 
flags  fluttering  as  neighbors  over  the  colony,  French 
at  heart  and  Spanish  in  form.  There  was  another 
ruler  over  the  sea  whom  he  always  got  sadly  con 
fused  with  those  two  ;  it  was  the  British  sovereign  who 
had  driven  the  Acadians  from  their  fair  homes  into 
heartless  exile.  His  mother  had  been  of  those  wan. 
derers.  So  long  as  he  could  remember  those  tales 
of  the  gorgeous  oppressors  and  the  pitiful  oppressed 
had  been  told  him,  as  the  stories  of  saints  and  of 
fairies  were  told  to  other  children  ;  and  it  seemed 
but  the  same  thing  over  again  as  his  father  said  : 

"  It  will  always  be  so  ;  never  forget,  my  little  one. 
Many  nations  may  assault  .  .  .  may  control  the 
life  of  our  little  city  of  the  great  river;  but  her 
heart  will  never  change.  It  is  the  French  heart 
that  will  beat  through  her  body  while  the  river  runs. 
Some  day  you  may  carry  a  sword  for  France,  as  I 
have  done.  She  may  want  help  when  .  .  .  you 
are  a  man.  When  that  time  comes  —  you  are  twenty- 
five  —  not  before,  come  then  to  the  great  rock  ;  take 
help  from  the  papers  there.  They  have  power;  I 
was  exiled;  ...  a  plot;  .  .  .  the  papers  they 
never  got.  They  have  power.  When  I  am  dead  put 
your  hand  on  mine  ;  .  .  .  promise  to  forget  where 


THE    INSURRECTION.  17 

.  .  .  they  are  hidden  .  .  .  until  you  are  so  old; 
...  to  utter  no  word  ;  ...  no  living  thing  must 
know ;  ...  no  one." 

"  I  will  promise  now  ;  and,  oh,  you  will  live  —  you 
will  live  !  " 

But  the  man  knew  it  could  not  be.  The  warm, 
growing  sun  was  burning  mingled  fancies  into  his 
brain.  He  seemed  striving  to  keep  his  thoughts  on 
but  one  path. 

"  La  Belle  France,  .  .  .  mon  brav  Basil !  It  is  a 
good  sword.  .  .  .  Ah,  my  wife  Suzette !  Basil, 
through  the  willows  .  .  ." 

So  he  murmured,  with  long  pauses  between  the 
sentences  ;  so  they  moved  on  through  the  water 
toward  the  warehouse  of  the  king,  toward  the  Place 
d'Armes,  where  the  people  shouted  for  freedom. 

"  Back  to  the  flag,"  he  whispered,  coaxingly.  "  I 
see  it  no  more  —  Basil !  " 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  pirogue  was  seen  close  to 
the  willows  by  the  tower  gate  as  the  sun  rose  high, 
and  within  it  a  dying  man  and  the  weeping  boy,  who 
could  satisfy  their  curiosity  so  little. 

"  He  loved  the  boats  and  the  water,  so  I  took  him 
where  he  wished  to  go  —  in  and  out  under  the  wil 
lows —  and  now  he  speaks  no  more,  and  I — ah!  be 
kind  with  him.  He  is  so  good  —  and  he  can  not 
speak  ! " 

His  fears  were  allayed,  and  Hector  de  Bayarde 
was  borne  unconscious  past  the  groups  of  sanguine 
patriots  whom  he  had  striven  to  serve.  Every  heart 
beat  less  gladly  as  they  learned  his  fate.  Ill  would  it 
have  been  for  the  thrower  of  that  murderous  stone 


18  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

had  his  name  been  known,  for  this  the  first  life  sac 
rificed  for  their  cause  had  been  one  much  loved, 
much  trusted. 

As  the  sunset  light  touched  the  flag  native  to  his 
heart,  he  spoke  for  the  last  time  : 

"  Basil  —  mon  brav  —  La  Belle  France  !  " 

One  year  later,  when  the  fleet  of  Spanish  ships 
rested  before  the  town  and  the  hundreds  of  Spanish 
grenadiers  landed  to  enforce,  if  need  be,  Spanish 
laws,  those  insurrectionists  of  '68,  who  had  called 
themselves  patriots,  were  treated  as  traitors. 

It  is  a  dark  page  that  holds  the  record  of  Spain's 
vengeance  on  the  colony :  the  hearts  pierced  by  the 
bullets  of  her  soldiery,  the  imprisonment  of  patriots 
in  the  Castle  of  Morro,  the  lives  banished  forever 
from  the  lands  of  Louisiana,  the  confiscation  of  all 
properties  belonging  to  the  leaders;  the  power 
landed  with  so  much  pomp  and  ceremony  on  their 
shores  was  most  relentless. 

All  of  those  horrors  had  been  mercifully  spared 
de  Bayarde  by  his  death  on  their  first  day  of  triumph. 
In  the  records  of  the  Spanish  custodians  his  name 
occurs  as  a  most  earnest  rebel  —  a  traitor  who 
escaped  justice  through  death.  To  outraged  Spain 
naught  was  left  but  the  land  owned  by  him,  and  the 
slaves  who  had  called  him  master.  These  were 
accordingly  confiscated. 

But  in  those  records  no  mention  is  made  of  the 
boy  who  bore  his  name  —  a  name  that  was  all  the 
inheritance  allowed  him  by  the  new  power,  the 
power  absolute.  And  even  the  name  of  an  insurrec 
tion  leader  was  made  a  thing  of  burden  to  the 
bearer  in  those  days. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    BRAND   OF    THE    FLEUR-DE-LIS. 

GREAT  changes  and  grand  manners  of  living  fol 
lowed  in  time  in  the  wake  of  those  grenadiers  of 
Spain.  The  languorous  life  of  ereole  repose  was 
cramped  in  the  straight-jacket  of  pomp  and  form 
and  distracting  ceremony.  The  civil  offices  of  the 
town  were  of  no  more  consequence  than  of  old,  yet 
the  titles  bestowed  on  the  holders  of  them  sounded 
so  grand  and  fine  in  the  Spanish  words  that  they 
diffused  a  sort  of  awe  over  the  colonists,  for  back  of 
those  many-syllabled  titles  was  the  Spanish  council, 
or  cabildo,  that  conferred  them,  and  back  of  the 
cabildo  ranged  the  vessels  with  the  soldiers  and  the 
ruthless  governor-general,  and  back  of  them  the 
throne  of  Spain. 

And  La  Belle  France,  and  free  commerce,  self- 
government,  and  the  many  Utopian  ideas  and 
shadowy  wraiths  of  hope  chased  by  the  Louisi 
ana  Creoles  ? 

Alas  !  they  were  spoken  of  with  tears  and  sadness 
in  those  days,  but  under  compulsion  the  dreamers  of 
those  dreams  wrote  their  names  in  the  great  book 
of  the  cabildo  and  subscribed  themselves  subjects  of 
Spain,  and  were  caiite  as  well  off  after  it  as  before 
had  their  prejudice  allowed  them  to  believe  it. 

But  enough  of  the  old  customs  remained,  though 

(19) 


20  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

rechristened,  to  gradually  win  them  to  content. 
Their  religion  was  left  them  ;  in  the  ruling  of  their 
slaves  little  was  changed;  each  owner  was  still 
invested  with  full  powers  of  police  over  his  black 
toilers,  and  for  lack  of  a  newer  mark  the  fleur-de-lis, 
the  flower  of  France,  was  still  branded  as  of  old  on 
the  body  of  refractory  slaves. 

Ah,  yes,  the  new  rule  had  its  good  points,  after 
all.  To  be  sure  the  heart  of  the  life  there  was 
French  ;  so  at  length  the  Creole  lips  learned  to  smile 
again,  to  murmur  condolences  to  each  other  with 
languorous  acceptance  of  their  lot,  and  as  their  pos 
sessions  and  privileges  grew  with  each  blooming  of 
the  myrtles,  they  looked  with  more  kindly  eyes  on 
the  exiles  from  Spain.  In  time  their  sons  and 
daughters  helped  to  close  the  breach  with  lovers' 
promises,  and  society  grew  into  a  tranquil  institu 
tion,  with  more  of  leisure  for  the  little  refinements 
of  their  old  lives  in  the  countries  of  courts. 

And  the  hunters  and  traders  from  the  north 
countries  and  the  lands  of  the  Illinois  beheld  with 
wonder  the  changes  each  journey  witnessed  in  the 
palisaded  town  on  Orleans  Island.  Ships  full  of 
stores  glided  into  her  harbors,  and  bore  away  in 
exchange  the  products  semi-tropical  of  the  soil  and 
wealth  of  skins  from  the  creatures  of  the  forests. 
Not  alone  Spanish  ships,  for  after  a  season  of  ostra 
cism  the  ever  watchful  British  crept  again  into  the 
toleration  of  the  people  and  moored  their  trading 
vessels  along  the  shores. 

One  by  one  the  Spanish  merchants,  bidding  for 
fortune,  varied  the  architectural  features  of  the 


THE   BRAND  OF   THE   FLEUR-DE-LIS.  21 

town  by  building  in  the  midst  of  their  gardens  the 
picturesque  dwellings  of  old  Spain.  They  were  all 
but  one  story  high,  those  quaint  mansions,  with  their 
inner  courts  where  oleanders  and  orange-bloom 
shaded  the  restful  galleries  from  the  tropic  suns. 

There  were  Moorish  arches  under  which  one 
walked  into  those  gardens  circled  by  the  dwellings, 
and  the  latticed  windows,  long  and  narrow,  were 
banded  by  metals  from  across  the  ocean,  while 
within  the  shadowy  living-rooms  were  spread  great 
skins  from  the  bear  and  the  tiger,  and  bright  weav- 
ings  of  rugs  from  the  Indian  hands  of  the  East. 
Soft  carpets  of  feathers  were  formed  by  slave  ringers 
from  the  smooth  breast  of  the  wild  duck,  and 
couches  of  mahogany  were  draped  in  silk  and 
linens ;  tables  of  finest  woods  were  inlaid  with  the 
pearl  shell  of  the  shores,  while  vessels  of  precious 
metals  filled  with  Spanish  wines  were  borne  to  the 
white  rulers  by  half-naked  slaves.  Surely,  of  all  col 
onies  on  our  coasts,  none  bore  with  it  such  atmos 
phere  of  beauty  and  gracious  oriental  fancy  as 
circled  the  life  there  shut  in  from  the  gaze  of  the 
world  by  the  vast  wilderness  draped  with  the  cur 
tains  of  gray  moss. 

And  so  it  was  that  fabulous  tales  of  luxury  were 
told  of  the  Louisianians  in  many  a  log  cabin  of  the 
East,  where  the  hunters  wandered  —  tales  that  raised 
many  conjectures  among  the  simpler  pioneers  who 
tilled  the  earth  with  plows  of  wood  and  ate  their 
dinner  of  corn  and  beans  from  bowls  made  of 
gourds  and  spoons  cut  from  white  ash. 

Of  a  certainty  there  must  be  kings  dwelling  at  the 


22  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

gate  of  the  great  river,  they  decided  — only  kings 
drank  from  jeweled  cups  and  dressed  a  favorite 
slave  in  cloth  of  silk  and  silver  arm-bands.  In  the 
book  of  books  such  things  were  told  of,  and  the  God 
fearing  knew  they  were  the  temptations  of  Satan, 
and  warned  those  wide-ranging  traders  to  beware 
of  his  nets  that  were  surely  held  in  those  oarbaric 
hands  at  that  port  of  the  South. 

But  in  the  more  ardent  adventurous  minds  those 
abominations  had  an  aspect  most  enticing,  and  ear 
nestly  did  they  ply  the  chance  traveler  with  questions 
of  the  grandeur  down  there;  of  the  old  governor 
who  had  gone  away  after  many  years ;  of  the  new 
governor  who  had  taken  his  place  ;  of  the  jewels, 
many  as  the  sands,  rare  gems  from  the  rich  mines 
of  Mexico. 

And  the  wearers  of  those  jewels ;  fair  they  must 
be,  of  course,  said  report,  though  in  truth  few  of  the 
traders  from  the  inland  could  testify  to  that,  for  caste 
was  a  high  barrier  in  those  days,  and  the  wives  and 
maids  of  the  rulers  were  not  to  be  gazed  at  as  freely 
as  were  the  shy,  half-naked  sauvage  girls  who  drove 
their  canoes  through  the  lagoons  in  search  of  fish. 

But  had  any  of  the  curious  ones  been  allowed  the 
privileges  of  the  gray  parrot  that  swung  so  demurely 
in  the  garden  of  Mons.  Gaston  le  Noyens,  that  one 
would  have  found  proof  positive  of  the  beauty  shut 
in  by  the  high  hedges  of  green. 

For  two  girls  talked  under  the  parrot's  perch, 
and  were  screened  from  house  and  garden  by  the 
latticed,  vine-covered  bower  ;  two  as  widely  different 
as  light  and  darkness,  yet  each  surely  beautiful. 


THE   BRAND   OF   THE   FLEUR-DE-LIS.  23 

They  were  very  close  together;  their  speech  was 
disjointed  and  broken  at  times,  as  by  smothered 
sobs.  The  jeweled,  lily-like  hand  of  one  rested  on 
the  silver-banded,  bronze  arm  of  the  other,  who 
crouched  at  her  feet.  One  was  of  the  ruling  race 
and  color,  the  other  a  stray  from  Africa ;  one  was 
mistress,  the  other  slave. 

And  on  the  slave's  shoulder,  where  the  snowy 
chemise  was  pushed  back,  was  the  mark  of  a  cruel 
deed,  the  cause  of  those  despairing  murmurs  ;  for 
crisp  and  gray  on  the  brown  skin  was  branded  the 
sign  of  a  rebellious  slave  — the  deep-burnt  fleur- 
de-lis. 

"  But  you,  Zizi,  are  not  of  the  insurrection  blacks," 
pleaded  the  soft  French  tones  of  the  mistress  ;  "  then 

why — ?" 

She  stopped  speaking  and  waited  for  the  girl  at 
her  feet  to  answer  the  muttered  question.  But  the 
eyes,  red  from  weeping,  looked  shrinkingly  into  the 
tender  blue  eyes  above  her. 

"No  ;  I  never  go  where  other  black  people  go 
to  whisper  in  crowds.  No ;  some  one  lied,  maybe  ; 
some  one  jealous"— and  she  moaned  a  little,  repeat 
ing  the  words  — "  some  one  jealous,  that  I  never  sent 
to  the  rice  plantation;  that's  why,  maybe.  And 
now  —  oh  ! ' 

"But,  Zizi- 

The  slave-girl  raised  her  head  and  hand  ;  she  had 
oddly  commanding  gestures  for  her  race. 

"  No  ;  please,  ma'm'selle—  good  Ma'm'selle  Felice, 
give  me  a  new  name.  I'm  new  nigger  now ;  that's 
all.  Zizi  carried  no  shame  burnt  with  iron  on  the 


24  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

shoulder  ;  Zizi  sung  songs  all  day  ;  Zizi  was  happy ; 
Zizi  now  dead  —  dead  and  gone  to  hell  —  white  mas 
ter's  hell.  Oam-me ! " 

"Zizi !  "  scolded  Mademoiselle  Felice,  half  fright 
ened  at  the  wildness  of  speech,  "  never  more  say 
such  words  —  you  hear  ?  I  will  not  love  you,  I  can 
not,  if  you  grow  wicked.  What  if  the  rcgidors 
(rulers)  or  alcaldes  (judges)  should  hear  words  like 
that  ?  Could  I  keep  you  from  the  rice  fields  then  ? 
No;  not  even  your  master  could  do  that." 

"  Master  not  care  !  "  burst  out  the  slave.  "  Master 
hope  I  drop  dead,  I  know.  I  say  few  little  words, 
that's  all,  and  he  look  —  ooh  !  how  his  eyes  look  at 
me !  then  he  go  way.  By-in-by  cabildo  men  come, 
put  chains  — so!  pull  me  to  calabozo  —  send  me 
back  with  this  !  " 

Her  agitation   was  so  great  that  her  speech 

French,  and  very  imperfect  —  was  disjointed.  Made 
moiselle  Felice  watched  the  expressive  face  for  the 
meaning  instead  of  trusting  to  the  words  with  their 
decided  coloring  of  the  African  coast  — so  many 
words  of  France,  or  of  English,  are  impossible  to 
the  native  of  West  Africa;  and  the  girl,  though 
wearing  a  silken  sash  above  her  buff  linen  skirt,  and 
though  bands  of  white  metal  decked  her  shapely 
arms,  was  yet  without  doubt  a  native  of  the  black 
lands. 

"  No  ;  your  master  has  been  a  good  master  to  you," 
contradicted  Mademoiselle  Felice.  "  Did  he  ever 
make  Zizi  work  on  the  plantation  ?  ever  make  her 
wear  '  nigger  cloth/  like  the  others?  ever  make  her  do 
work  but  wait  on  me  ?  ever  make  her  sleep  but  at 


THE   BRAND   OF   THE   FLEUR-DE-LIS.  25 

my  door  ?  No,  no,  child  ;  he  never  want  you  to  die. 
Some  one  told  him  false  of  you,  maybe  —  yes,  surely; 
but  your  Master  Gaston  loved  you  kind,  Zizi." 

A  queer  little  sound,  like  a  scornful  moan,  came 
from  the  child,  who  was  perhaps  nineteen,  and  older 
by  a  couple  of  years  than  Mademoiselle  Felice. 
"  Bouf !  kind  love  —  white  man's  love  —  oam-me  !  " 
and  she  rocked  her  body  in  a  sort  of  derisive  misery. 
"Zizi  know — I  know  —  white  man's  love.  Look  on 
my  shoulder!  White  man's  love  made  that." 

Mademoiselle  Felice  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands.  "  Oh,  you  poor  unfortunate  !  My  good  Zizi,  I 
loved  the  very  name  of  France !  but  now  I  can  not, 
when  I  see  its  emblem  burnt  in  your  flesh  ;  no,  never 
again.  The  chains  and  whips  of  Spain  can  be  no 
more  cruel.  But  I  love  you,  Zizi.  I  will  buy  you  if 
Uncle  Gaston  can  be  coaxed,  and  you  will  never  see 
the  branding-iron  again.  Ah,  how  it  must  burn 
you !  " 

Zizi's  swaying  body  ceased,  and  she  looked  up 
with  a  strange  expression  on  her  face. 

"  I'm  all  black,  and  you,  Ma'm'selle  Felice,  are 
white,  like  the  magnolia  blossoms,  but  maybe  we 
can  feel  the  same  ;  and  if  Master  Basil,  when  he 
slips  under  the  trees  to  speak  with  you,  would 
strike  you  with  a  whip  instead  of  to  kiss  your 
hands,  would  the  pain  be  more  where  the  whip  fell 
than  the  ache  in  the  heart? " 

"  Zizi,  how  dare  you  !  " 

"Ah,  ma'm'selle,  sweet  ma'm'selle,  be  not 
angered;  for  see"  -and  she  laid  her  clinched  hand 
on  her  half-bared  bosom  —  "  the  hurt  is  so  bad  here 
that  I  forgot  I  was  only  the  slave  —  I  forget." 


26  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Yes,  you  forget,"  agreed  ma'm'selle,  sadly ;  "  that 
is  why  the  cabildo  men  made  you  suffer,  that  is 
why  I  must  speak  unkindly.  Why  do  you  forget? 
The  others  do  not." 

"  Heh!  the  others" — and  Zizi  threw  back  her  head 
as  a  young  mare  of  the  desert  might  when  touched 
first  by  the  whip — "  the  others  know  why.  They  were 
slaves  always,  the  many  who  come  in  the  white 
master's  ship ;  two,  three  work  now  in  your  rice 
lands  that  I  did  buy,  that  I  did  sell  on  my  own 
shore.  The  others — were  the  others  born,  as  I  was 
born,  of  the  king's  wife  ?  Were  the  others  told  by 
the  old  men  of  the  traps  in  the  king's  laws,  and  the 
way  to  rule  and  make  a  nation  strong  ?  Were  the 
others  carried  on  woven  mats  and  shaded  from  the 
sky  by  the  broadest  leaves  ?  The  others  !  I,  the  Zizi 
of  Master  Gaston,  am  not  as  the  others." 

Surely  these  were  the  words  of  the  insurrection 
blacks  who  were  dreaded  ;  troubled  Mademoiselle 
Felice  shook  her  head  sadly.  The  brand  of  the 
flcur-dc-lis  was  not  so  difficult  to  explain  now. 

"  Zizi,  if  they  hear  you  speak  like  that  they  will 
take  you  away  to  the  plantations,  and  the  chains, 
and  the  brands,  and  the  whips  will  kill  you,  maybe. 
Is  it  not  better  to  be  still,  and  to  live  where  I  live  ? 
Yes,  I  think  so.  The  rulers  will  not  say  you  are 
different ;  they  will  say  the  gold  did  buy  you  as  the 
rest,  and  that  your  master  may  not  keep  you  in  the 
town." 

"  Buy  me  —  me  —  never  believe  ;  they  may  kill  me, 
but  never  believe."  And  the  strange  creature  clasped 
her  hands  pleadingly.  "Ah,  good  Mademoiselle 


THE    BRAND   OF   THE   FLEUR-DE-LIS.  27 

Felice,  white  ladies  never  hear  how  the  white 
masters  trap  slaves  with  kind  eyes  and  softest  words. 
So  Zizi  was  bought ;  so  she  slipped  her  boat  in  the 
night  to  follow  where  the  big  kingdom  was,  to  sit  by 
the  kind  master  and  be  woman  king  in  a  land  so  big 
her  own  could  be  swallowed  by  it.  Such  thoughts 
had  Zizi  in  her  heart.  Oam-me  !  oam-me  !  " 

"  Mcrci  !  Zizi,  you  speak  like  the  fairy  stories  of 
the  foreign  prince  and  the  charmed  princess,"  and 
Mademoiselle  Felice  tried  to  laugh  lightly,  but  was 
embarrassed  by  the  outspoken  fantastic  desires  of 
the  favored  slave.  They  were  so  droll,  these  black 
people !  But  Felice  had  never  seen  any  of  them 
droll  after  this  fashion  of  Zizi's.  She  was  very  cer 
tain  her  Uncle  Gaston  would  find  grave  cause  for 
reproof  in  the  fact  that  she  listened  to  and  showed 
sympathy  with  a  slave  who  was  under  the  ban  of 
that  flower  of  France.  Yet  Mademoiselle  Felice 
Henriette  St.  Malo  had  all  a  woman's  interest  in 
puzzling  things,  and  surely  these  aspirations  of  Zizi 
were  the  most  unheard-of,  ridiculous  things ;  from 
whence  had  they  come  ? 

"  Well,  continue,  Zizi ;  finish  the  story." 
"  This  has  finished  the  story,"  and  the  girl  pointed 
to  the  brand  and  arose  to  her  feet.  One  could  see 
then  the  wondrous  symmetry  of  the  statuesque  fig 
ure.  Not  the  limbs  of  the  rice-worker  those.  Made 
moiselle  Felice,  in  her  dainty  blue  and  white  gown, 
looked  like  a  pure-lipped  lily  beside  the  tawny  ori 
ental  beauty  of  the  slave.  And  the  bronze  feet, 
with  their  jingling  anklets,  looked  strangely  slim 
for  the  feet  of  an  African.  But  are  there  not  le- 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

gends  of  the  Moors  ranging  far  down  that  western 
coast?  Might  not  those  feet  be  a  record  of  their 
raids  ? 

Not  that  Zizi's  mistress  speculated  on  these  ques 
tions.  Zizi  was  handsomer  than  all  the  other  slaves  ; 
that  was  why  she  was  kept  like  a  bright  picture  in 
the  house.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  waited  on  by  beauty ; 
and  the  spirit  of  voluptuous  France  was  abroad 
through  the  land  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

"  But  tell  me,  Zizi  —  " 

"Mistress  "--and  the  girl's  voice  had  lost  its  pas 
sionate  coloring,  the  tones  were  low  and  even  — 
"  Mistress  Felice,  niggers  dream  wide-awake  some 
times—that's  all.  Zizi  dream  like  that.  Zizi  say 
fool  things,  for  reason  her  fine  little  mistress  is  so 
kind.  She  be  good  now ;  say  fool  things  not  any 
more  —  only  find  new  name.  Please,  Ma'm'selle  Fe 
lice,  I  hear  you  some  days  sing  little  song  like 
bird  ;  that  song  it  say  so, '  Vendaient!  vendaient!  '  Now 
what  that  mean,  mistress  ?  " 

Ma'm'selle  Felice  smiled  and  blushed  over  all  her 
witchy,  softly  curved  face. 

"Oh,  that's  a  love-ballad,  in  which  the  cavalier 
laments  that  Monsieur  Cupid  has  betrayed  him  for  a 
glance  from  a  lady,  and  sold  him  for  one  whisper 
through  a  lattice." 

"  And  vendaient,  mistress  ?  " 

'That  is  but  —  betrayed  —  sold  —  you  know;  you 
learn  the  words  so  swiftly." 

The  slave-girl  nodded.     "  Zizi  thought  like  that 
-  venda'—  vendaient  —  that  pretty,  fine  name.    Mis 
tress,  give  me  that  name.      Zizi  ugly  in  my  ears 


THE   BRAND   OF  THE   FLEUR-DE-LIS.  29 

now  —  Venda  sound  good  —  the  song  sound  good. 
Venda  better,  anyway.  Jocko,  who  catches  fish,  has 
a  monkey  devil  he  call  Zizi ;  so  please,  mistress, 
give  me  a  name  to  myself." 

"  Well,  if  it  please  you,  and  if  you  are  good,"  con 
sented  Mademoiselle  Felice,  and  wondered  at  the 
childish  petulance  about  sharing  a  name  with  a  pet 
animal  —  she  who  had  been  startling  in  her  pain 
and  her  passion  over  weightier  matters  not  an  hour 
ago ;  and  now  she  was  smiling  her  thanks,  though 
signs  of  tears  were  yet  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Um !  I'll  be  good  now  —  Venda  will  —  the  name 
is  good  —  Venda!"  Then  she  stooped  and  kissed 
the  white  wrist  before  her.  "I'll  be  good  to  you, 
little  mistress;  I'd  die  for  you,"  she  muttered,  and 
turned  away.  Not  another  word  of  that  burning 
brand.  Had  the  gift  of  the  new  name  driven  away 
the  pain  ? 

"It  is  as  the  planters  say  —  they  are  only  chil 
dren,  after  all,  Zizi  too,"  thought  her  mistress. 

The  home  of  Mademoiselle  Felice  was  by  no 
means  of  her  own  choosing,  else  it  would  not  have 
been  in  that  suburban  corner  of  the  town,  where  the 
streets  were  yet  to  be,  and  where  the  thick  green  of 
the  leaves  shut  one  off  as  effectually  from  sight  of 
more  social  New  Orleans  as  if  the  dwelling-house 
had  been  without  the  banquette  among  the  indigo 
fields  where  the  slaves  worked. 

But  Gaston  le  Noyens,  like  many  another  volupt 
uary,  enjoyed  all  the  more  the  excesses  of  his 
barrack  associates  and  the  carousals  of  the  warm 
nights  because  he  went  to  them  from  the  cloister- 


30  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

like  shadows  where  the  remnant  of  his  family 
exhaled  a  certain  atmosphere  of  innocence  about 
the  pomegranate-walled  retreat. 
'  A  man  universally  liked  for  his  handsome  face, 
his  gracious  smile,  and  the  fascination  which  won 
for  him  friendship  of  men  and  women,  though  few 
could  have  told  of  any  good  deeds  done  by  him. 

Indeed,  it  had  been  whispered  that  it  was  the 
troublesome  fascination  of  his  manner  which  exiled 
him  from  the  light  of  the  king's  countenance  twelve 
years  before.  The  king  who  would  be  paramount  in 
chosen  feminine  hearts  is  wise  when  he  banishes 
courtiers  who  look  voiceless  adoration.  A  suppliant 
at  beauty's  feet  is  much  more  dangerous  as  a  rival 
than  one  who  stoops  to  confer  favors,  and  Louis 
XV.  of  France  was  doubtless  aware  of  the  fact. 

But  exile  seemed  to  trouble  Monsieur  le  Noyens 
but  little.  He  had  plunged  carelessly,  recklessly 
into  different  schemes  and  enterprises  of  the  New 
World.  He  had  crossed  the  dread  lands  into  Mexico, 
and  came  back  with  strange  jewels ;  he  had  spent  a 
year  about  the  northern  settlement  of  Vincennes,  and 
floated  down  the  great  river  with  costly  stores  of 
furs ;  he  had  crossed  the  Mexican  sea  many  times 
to  the  slave  markets  of  Barbadoes,  and  had  ranged 
once  —  that  once  of  which  Zizi  moaned  — the  west 
coast  of  Africa,  and  on  his  return  had  found  his 
widowed  sister,  lately  arrived,  dying,  of  either  dis 
ease  or  homesickness,  and  a  blue-eyed  demoiselle 
who  called  him  men  oncle,  and  whose  presence  sug 
gested  the  forming  of  a  home  against  the  day  when 
he  should  grow  too  old  to  roam. 


THE   BRANT)   OF   THE    FLEUR-DE-LIS.  31 

Such  was  the  man,  but  a  type  of  many  in  the 
adventurous  life  of  that  new  colony  owned  by  the 
Spanish  king.  And  if  he  failed  in  many  ways  as  a 
guardian,  or  in  his  new  role  of  a  domestic  bachelor, 
well,  it  was  only  a  jest  to  laugh  at,  and,  after  all,  he 
thought  he  did  well,  since  no  lady,  of  whatever  rank, 
was  draped  as  finely  as  his  protegee,  and  in  all  the 
colony  none  was  more  delicately  cared  for.  In  all 
the  colony  there  lived  no  demoiselle  so  high  of 
birth,  so  altogether  desirable,  and  at  the  same  time 
unwedded  ;  but  all  the  flattering  ceremonies  of  their 
caste  did  not  prevent  the  languid  days  from  drag 
ging  wearily  to  her.  Youth  loves  gay  youth,  and 
not  the  conventionalities  of  a  court ;  and  the  hon 
eyed  phrases  tendered  her  by  her  uncle's  friends 
had  never  yet  done  aught  but  amuse  her  or  make 
her  weary  of  their  sameness. 

In  fact,  to  the  wonder  of  all,  it  was*  generally 
supposed  Mademoiselle  Felice  meant  to  take  the 
veil  of  conventual  life  instead  of  a  husband,  if  one 
could  judge  by  her  indifference  to  the  latter,  and 
her  close  affection  for  the  nuns,  in  whose  society  she 
passed  much  of  her  time  ;  and  in  the  charity  hospital 
down  there  by  the  grasping,  treacherous  river  the 
girl  was  not  a  stranger. 

But  never  a  cavalier  strode  by  the  side  of  Made 
moiselle  Felice.  Zizi  was  there  when  she  went 
abroad  in  the  streets,  and  Ponto,  a  stalwart  black  of 
the  Congo ;  sometimes  a  Ursuline  nun,  whose  eyes 
were  ever  on  the  ground,  but  never  a  social  friend, 
except  it  be  Father  Dagobert,  of  beloved  memory 
and  easy  penances. 


32  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

But  ghostly  associations  stole  never  a  charm  of 
life  and  youth  from  the  flower  face  of  Felice,  and 
dimmed  never  the  bloom  of  the  velvet  mouth  ador 
able  —  the  mouth  so  sweetly  tremulous,  as  from  the 
consciousness  of  kisses. 

Did  a  thought  like  that  ever  cross  the  brain  of 
Monsieur  le  Noyens?  If  so,  he  had  but  to  run  over 
the  list  of  eligibles  —  among  them  his  good  comrade, 
Don  Diego  Zanalta  —  on  whom  she  had  smiled  a 
"no,"  yet  retained  their  devotion.  And  outside 
those  cavaliers  and  ecclesiastics  the  child  had  no 
knowledge  of  man  or  boy  in  all  the  colony,  unless, 
indeed,  it  be  a  certain  half-caste  youth  named  Basil, 
who  had  the  trick  of  picking  music  from  a  mandolin 
and  from  whom  Felice  had  begged  to  learn  after 
hearing  the  notes  on  the  river  one  night. 

But  Monsieur  le  Noyens  counted  the  music-master 
not  at  all  among  the  receivers  of  his  protegee's  smiles. 
A  woman  of  the  Le  Noyens  to  stoop  to  one  beneath 
her!  Her  guardian  would  as  soon  have  thought 
black  Ponto  among  her  lucky  suitors.  And  she  had 
not  even  seemed  to  regret  those  lessons  of  harmony 
when  they  ceased  so  suddenly  months  ago,  and  did 
not  even  know  the  fellow's  audacity  in  asking  Mon 
sieur  Gaston  for  her  hand,  if  in  five  years  he  could 
present  himself  with  wealth  and  name  acceptable  in 
the  eyes  of  her  family. 

Monsieur  Gaston  was  touched  with  merriment 
whenever  he  remembered  that  scene.  It  was,  no 
doubt,  the  outgrowth  of  the  free  air  in  this  new 
land,  that  swept  over  barriers  of  caste  and  raised 
hopes  of  boatman  or  merchant  to  the  level  of  the 


VENDA.  33 

ruling  blood.  But  it  was  ridiculous,  entirely.  Per 
haps  it  had  been  amusement  tempering  his  anger 
that  day ;  anyway,  he  had  dismissed  the  Pan  of  the 
river  reeds  with  no  greater  hurt  than  a  few  sardonic 
speeches  and  the  suggestion  that  he  at  once  betake 
himself  from  the  colony  and  return  to  the  dcmi- 
sauvagcs  of  the  Illinois,  where  there  were  no  objec 
tionable  lines  of  caste  drawn,  and  where  he  might 
aspire  to  the  daughter  of  some  chieftain  and  meet  a 
surer  welcome. 

Monsieur  Gaston  never  could  remember  aright  just 
the  words  of  the  lad's  reply ;  but  he  realized  that 
the  player  of  the  mandolin,  who  was  also  a  voyagcur 
or  boatman  of  the  great  river,  could  express  much 
rage  without  words,  and  was  sadly  deficient  in  the 
suave  manners  of  courtiers. 

Yet  his  audacity  had  soared  as  high  as  the  hopes 
of  the  highest-born  cavalier  on  the  new  lands !  Well 
it  was  that  Felice  never  knew  ;  her  kind  heart  made 
her  gentle  alike  to  courtier,  commoner,  or  slave,  and 
the  guardian  of  Felice  understood  that  the  presump 
tion  of  the  ranger  needed  harsher  medicines  than 
her  sweet-voiced  reproof. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VENDA. 

AND  Mademoiselle  Felice  ?  Did  Monsieur  Gaston 
never  for  a  moment  guess  that  she  might  possess 
something  of  his  own  determination  —  even  love  of 

3 


34  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

adventure  —  under  the  tender  mask  of  her  fair  face  ? 
And  to  what  hearts  do  romances  appeal  most  allur 
ingly  ?  Surely  those  shut  in  by  the  grays  and  the 
whites  of  the  cloister's  life.  And  the  blood  of  youth, 
so  quick  to  sympathy,  reads  many  a  volume  from 
tender  answering  eyes,  and  heeds  but  little  the  con 
ventional  words  of  aged  guides.  Wisdom  is  good, 
but  wayward  folly  has  a  sweetness  of  its  own ;  its 
guidance  is  such  an  alluring  thing. 

The  magnolia  and  the  willow  had  drooped  over 
many  of  the  sauvage  lovers  of  that  semi-tropic  land, 
and  they  formed  many  a  natural  bower  for  a  wooing 
of  courtlier  phrases  when  the  athletic  young  voyageur 
left  the  paddle  to  his  comrades  and  touched  the  man 
dolin  strings  for  the  pleasure  of  mademoiselle. 

And  the  finale  ?  That  day  of  Zizi's  disgrace 
Zizi's  mistress  again  sat  in  the  arbor  of  the  far 
gate,  but  instead  of  the  sobbing  slave-girl  there 
was  the  form  of  a  stalwart  monk  at  her  feet,  and 
instead  of  priestly  admonitions  on  his  lips  there 
were  warm  broken  sentences,  with  which  caresses 
mingled,  and  on  the  whiteness  of  her  hands  many 
kisses  were  pressed. 

And  Felice  was  telling  him  the  horror  of  Zizi's 
punishment. 

"  And  if  we  are  to  believe,  it  was  by  my  uncle's 
commands ;  then  think  how  great  would  be  his 
anger  if  he  knew  all !  Oh,  Basil - 

But  he  stopped  her  with  a  smile. 

"  No  one  knows  all,  my  little  madame,  not  even 
Father  Dagobert,  much  as  he  loves  a  love  ;  and  but 
to-day  has  Father  Luis  taken  the  way  into  the  wil- 


VENDA.  35 

derness  beyond  Vincennes.     Our  sweetest  secret  is 
ours  until  we  choose  to  speak." 

"  But  secrets  are  so  terrible  !  I  grow  weak  when 
I  think  of  his  anger.  Poor  Zizi !  " 

"  Dear  heart,  think  of  the  boat  on  which  we  will 
some  day  sail  far  from  these  shores ;  think  not  so 
long  on  the  fate  of  a  slave,  who  laughs,  perhaps, 
while  you  sigh  for  her.  Be  not  so  tender  of  heart,' 
little  one." 

"  Ah,  and  had  I  been  hard  of  heart  a  certain 
voyagcitr  we  know  of  would  now  be  with  Father 
Luis  in  the  forests  instead  of  kissing  a  lady's  ringers. 
Dare  you  chide  me,  man  brave  Basil  ?  " 

"Mon  brave  Basil,"  he  repeated,  tenderly;  "you 
speak  for  my  father  when  you  say  the  sweet  words ; 
they  are  the  last  of  my  remembrance  of  him.  But 
chide  you  ?  I  bless  and  thank  you.  You  make  me 
a  prince  when  you  turn  from  your  world  of  court 
iers  and  take  my  hand.  But  a  brave  man  borrows 
no  cloak  of  a  priest  when  he  goes  wooing,"  and  his 
face,  fair  with  the  light  of  youth,  and  softened  by 
curls  of  brown,  grew  for  a  moment  dark  and  discon 
tented.  "  Had  I  but  your  consent  I  should  claim 
'  you  before  all,  and  bear  you  away  from  their  walls 
of  caste,  and  their  empty  pride ;  only  your  will 
holds  me  back." 

"And  your  promise  — your  promise  to  be  kept 
one  year  — no  more,"  she  said,  coaxingly.  "Then 
all  may  know,  but  not  yet;  they  would  shut  me 
away  from  you,  perhaps,  and  then  — then  I  should 
die,  oh,  love,  believe  it." 

That  his  belief  was  willing  and  tender  none  could 


36  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

doubt  who  heard  the  caressing,  reassuring  words. 
The  kisses  of  his  lips  touched  her,  and  she  flushed 
as  a  rose  under  his  eager  eyes. 

11  A  summer  ago  you  would  not  have  been  so 
bold,"  she  whispered  ;  and  he  laughed. 

"  A  summer  ago,  and  all  my  summers  agone,  I 
dreamed  dreams  of  paradise  as  I  sped  my  boat 
through  the  bayous,  and  the  saints  — you  among 
them  —  have  been  too  good  to  me,  Felice,  for  the 
dreams  have  come  true,  and  paradise  has  stooped  to 
me  while  I  am  yet  alive." 

But  even  in  the  midst  of  the  joyous  boast  she 
raised  her  hand.  "  To-day  everything  makes  me 
afraid,"  she  whispered.  "  I  do  not  know  why,  per 
haps  because  of  Zizi's  grief,  but  every  footstep 
sounds  like  a  bell  in  the  night  when  the  blacks  arise  ; 
and  now  —  but  now  did  you  not  hear  some  one 
speak?" 

He  listened  and  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  but  the 
laughter  of  guests  there  at  the  house.  But  you  are 
right,  it  is  not  wise  to  linger  at  this  hour  —  others 
than  we  may  fancy  this  shadowed  corner;  and  so 
until  to-morrow  - 

His  arm  was  about  her  as  they  paced  to  the  door 
of  the  arbor  and  halted  for  a  moment  of  farewell ; 
but  ere  it  was  spoken  a  scuffle  of  feet  was  heard 
without,  and  the  girl  Zizi  was  flung  from  the  path 
by  an  angry  hand,  and  a  face  appeared  before  them 
at  which  Felice  screamed  faintly  and  strove  to  draw 
from  the  detaining  hand  of  the  tall  young  priest. 

Yet  the  face  was  in  no  sense  a  fearful  one.  Its 
lines  were  rather  handsome,  fair,  cynical  lines,  and 
all  touched  just  then  by  a  smile. 


VENDA.  37 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  if  a  pleasant  pict 
ure  had  been  arranged  for  his  benefit  alone.  "  A 
scene  ardent  as  the  loves  of  Abelard  and  that  other 
religious  harlot  of  old  France  !  Do  you,  then,  gra 
cious  father,  take  to  your  arms  a  daughter  of  Eve 
for  love  of  heaven  ?  " 

In  an  instant  the  voyagcur  heart  broke  through  the 
barrier  of  priestly  garb ;  swiftly  he  struck,  and  the 
enraged,  mocking  face  of  Monsieur  Gaston  was  lev 
eled  to  the  green  grasses ;  blood  was  struck  from  the 
mouth  that  had  smiled  so  insultingly,  and  at  sight 
of  it  Felice  screamed. 

"  He  is  dead,"  she  cried,  wildly.  "  Oh,  good  God  ! 
Basil,  you  have  taken  the  life  of  my  uncle." 

"  And  stolen  the  heart  of  the  niece,"  added  another 
voice,  and  Felice  saw  the  form  of  Don  Diego  Zanalta 
standing  but  a  few  feet  away.  He  had  evidently 
accompanied  Monsieur  Gaston  and  been  an  unseen 
witness  of  all  that  passed.  Zizi  arose  to  her  feet  and 
cast  a  look  of  hate  toward  him  as  she  caught  her 
mistress,  who  drooped  suddenly  on  the  arm  of  the 
priest,  pale  as  a  blossom  beat  down  in  a  tempest. 

"Take  her,  Zizi,"  said  the  man,  who  seemed  a 
priest  to  Zanalta  —  "take  her  from  the  speech  of 
these  men,  whose  words  are  sacrilege  to  purity !  " 

He  laid  the  loved  form  in  the  slave-girl's  arms. 
With  the  watchful  eyes  of  that  gay  cavalier  on  him, 
he  refrained  from  kissing  even  the  hand  of  her,  but 
he  looked  adoringly  on  the  pale  face,  and  raised  his 
hands  in  gesture  of  blessing  above  her  head,  mur 
muring  something  unheard  by  the  others. 

He  watched  so  long  as  a  glimpse  of  her  could  be 


38  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

seen  through  the  shrubbery ;  such  a  heavy  weight 
seemed  to  fall  on  his  heart  when  his  eyes  could  rest 
on  her  no  longer.  So  few  the  moments  since  para 
dise  had  been  his,  and  now  - 

He  straightened  himself,  remembering  that  other 
man,  and  the  owner  of  the  land  who  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  Your  friend  is  not  dead,"  he  said,  as  Monsieur 
Gaston  stirred  and  attempted  to  rise.  Zanalta  as 
sisted  him,  but  his  eyes  were  curiously  on  the  priest- 
clad  form  and  face. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded,  and  Basil  de 
Bayarde  turned  away. 

"  Monsieur  le  Noyens  can  tell  you  if  he  chooses,  and 
for  my  acts  he  will  always  find  me  ready  to  answer." 

He  walked  away,  but  not  until  he  was  seen  by  two 
other  gentlemen  who  came  hurriedly  from  the  man 
sion-house,  where  the  arrival  of  Zizi  had  disturbed 
the  smoking  of  gay  gallants  who  liked  well  the  fra 
grant  cigars  of  Le  Noyens.  Full  of  wonder,  they 
gazed  at  the  retreating  monkish  form,  and  then  at 
the  pale,  slightly  scarred  face  of  their  host. 

"  It  is  but  trifling,  gentlemen,"  he  reassured  them  ; 
"  a  vagabond  employe,  whom  I  had  forbidden  the 
grounds,  crept  back  in  disguise,  for  the  purpose  of 
theft,  no  doubt,  and  gave  a  great  fright  to  mademoi 
selle,  my  niece.  We  had  an  altercation,  but  it  is 
over,  and  since  he  is  gone  we  will  do  well  to  forget 
him.  I  will  set  a  watch  for  him  in  future,  for  these 
rangers  of  the  rivers  are  daring  thieves." 

His  guests  agreed,  though  quietly  curious  as  to 
why  the  thief  was  allowed  to  walk  away  unarrested. 

But  Zanalta  was  not  content  to  let  his  curiosity  be 


VENDA.  3 

quiet  as  to  the  man  whom  Mademoiselle  Felice  had 
called-"  Basil"  in  so  intimate  a  tone.  Basil?  Basil? 
In  all  their  circle  of  the  colony  he  knew  none  of 
that  name  to  whom  she  would  turn.  But  one  thing 
he  did  know  —  this  Basil  was  the  man  who  had 
lured  her  from  his  arms.  This  cavalier  of  the  gown 
should  be  his  game,  he  promised  himself ;  for  all  in 
an  instant  he  realized  that  his  rival  was  not  the 
holy  church,  not  the  cloister  of  a  nun,  but  this  stal 
wart  unknown. 

"  Tell  me  but  one  thing,  Gaston,"  he  asked,  press 
ing  his  friend's  arm  with  affectionate  sympathy ; 
"  tell  the  others  as  little  as  you  like,  but  remember 
you  and  I  are  more  than  companions  of  a  season. 
Remember  you  have  given  me  Felice,  if  I  can  win 
her ;  now  give  me  also  the  name  of  the  man  who 
is  my  rival." 

Le  Noyens  halted  where  a  rustic  seat  was  set  in 
the  shade  of  oleander  branches. 

"  Ask  our  friends  to  excuse  my  absence  for  a  little 
while,"  he  asked,  "  and  then  come  back  here.  If  I 
speak  to  you  it  is  best  to  have  no  walls  about." 

The  other  gentlemen  had  already  halted  at  the 
portal,  waiting  for  the  master,  but  in  a  few  smooth 
phrases  Zanalta  excused  their  host  and  placed  the 
house  at  their  disposal.  On  his  return  he  found 
Gaston  no  longer  reclining  ;  he  was  erect,  and  walk 
ing  backward  and  forward  moodily.  He  turned  at 
the  step  of  his  friend. 

"  That  we  agreed  Felice  should  marry  you,  if 
any  man,  is  one  of  the  bitter  things  I  would  like  to 
forget  just  now,"  he  acknowledged.  "  I  feel  that 


40  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

her  guardian-angel  will  do  well  to  keep  her  away 
from  me  for  the  present,  or  I  might  be  tempted  to 
kill  her." 

"•Gaston ! " 

"  You  do  not  know  what  she  has  become  !  "  burst 
out  the  other  ;  "  she  has  disgraced  her  family  — she, 
the  first  woman  of  her  name  to  do  so.  You  would 
not  now  care  to  remember  that  you  ever  desired 
her.  The  women  of  Zanalta  have  been  noble.  You 
would  not  want  to  be  first  to  add  to  the  house  a  wife 
who  has  stooped  to  the  canaille  as  Felice  has 
stooped.  Ah,  I  tell  you  —  why  not?  You  would 
learn  it  some  day.  By  the  cross  of  God,  she'll  pay 
dearly  for  her  gay  meetings ;  not  another  day  shall 
vshe  live  without  the  walls  of  the  nuns  she  pro 
fessed  such  liking  for.  That  I,  Gaston  le  Noyens, 
should  have  been  blinded  so  long  by  this  praying 
dame  whose  eyes  dare  not  rise  to  meet  a  man's ! 
Oh,  fool  —fool ! " 

Diego  Zanalta  only  watched  his  friend,  waiting 
for  the  wordy  rage  to  die  away. 

"  I  ask  but  the  name  of  the  man,"  he  said  again, 
quietly;  "  you  have  not  told  me." 

"  Then  I  shall."  And  Gaston's  smile  was  one  of  self 
pity.  "  Why  spare  ourselves  any  of  the  humiliation 
she  has  bought  so  dearly  ?  Months  ago  I  told  you 
of  a  boor  —  a  voyageur  —  floating  down  from  the 
villages  of  the  sauvagcs;  he  could  pick  airs  from  the 
mandolin.  Well,  it  seems  Mademoiselle  Felice  found 
her  mate  in  that  ignorant,  low-bred  oarsman,  for 
to-day  I  surprised  them  with  clasped  arms,  his  kisses 
on  her  lips.  This  meeting  was  not  their  first,  be  sure 


VENDA.  41 

of  that,  Diego.  Could  I  give  to  my  friend  a  wife 
who  was  the  leavings  of  such  cattle?" 

"  I  desire  mademoiselle,  and  hold  you  to  your 
promise,"  Zanalta  answered;  "but  the  fellow's 
name?" 

"  Basil  de  Bayarde." 

"  De  Bayarde  !  that  is  not  the  name  of  a  plebeian." 

"  Bouf !  A  name  is  as  easy  to  borrow  or  steal  as 
the  gown  of  a  priest." 

"  De  Bayarde  —  the  name  has  a  sound  familiar, 
though  I  know  none  who  answers  to  it.  De  Bayarde 
—  that  name  must  be  for  the  present  written  on  the 
clearest  page  of  my  memory.  De  Bayarde?" 

"  Yet  you  seem  to  care  little  enough,"  remarked 
his  friend,  looking  at  him  sharply ;  "  you  whom  I 
have  seen  rage  because  a  little  ncgrcssc  divided  her 
favors  and  gave  you  but  half ;  you  who  have  left  a 
man  dead  on  the  sands  of  Spain  because  of  a  woman 
whose  vows  were  as  false  as  the  jewels  she  wore, 
and  as  cheaply  bought.  Do  I  know  you  even  yet, 
Diego?" 

"Who  else  if  not  you?  Bend  not  your  eyes  on 
me  in  such  disturbed  wonder  because  I  am  forget 
ting  the  season  of  the  passion  flowers  for  the  sake 
of  one  fair  lily  I  would  have  grow  in  my  garden." 

"  Fair,  perhaps  ;  foul  by  the  proof." 

"  Heed  your  words!"  retorted  Zanalta.  "I  have 
adored  her  through  a  century  of  waiting,  and  your 
croakings  shall  not  mar  the  visions  of  my  paradise." 

"  To  which  his  excellency  De  Bayarde  will  raise 
a  locked  gate  of  iron,"  sneered  his  friend,  whose 
brooding  rage  yet  pictured  itself  in  glance  and  tone. 


42  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

But  Zanalta  tapped  with  white,  strong  fingers  his 
jeweled  snuff-box  and  gazed  sagaciously  toward  the 
gate  where  the  priest's  gown  had  disappeared. 

"  Have  no  fear  that  Basil  de  Bayarde  will  be  for 
gotten.  Saint  Satan  will  aid  me  in  that,  for  you 
know  how  dearly  he  hates  a  monk's  hood." 

"  Go  within,  Diego  ;  you  are  light  as  the  bubbles  on 
new  wine.  You,  better  than  myself,  can  act  the  host 
to-night.  Look  to  our  friends.  I  must  think." 

But  he  could  not  even  think  in  repose ;  rage  made 
him  restless,  and  again  his  feet  were  turned  toward 
the  far  gate  where  he  had  surprised  the  lovers. 
Forward  and  back  he  walked  with  bent  head,  not 
seeing  the  lithe  form  of  the  slave-girl  who  entered 
the  gate  from  without,  panting  as  one  who  has  run 
far ;  yet  her  absence  had  been  but  short,  and  she 
slipped  behind  the  myrtles,  stealthily,  that  he  might 
not  think  she  had  been  abroad  in  the  roads  of 
Orleans ;  it  would  be  so  easy  for  him  to  fancy  the 
truth  —  that  she  had  followed  the  lover  with  word 
from  the  mistress. 

Quite  near  her,  as  she  stood  in  hiding,  there 
gleamed  something  bright,  as  of  silver,  among  the 
green  of  the  grasses.  Bending  forward  she  saw  more 
clearly.  It  was  a  slim,  curved  blade,  with  a  handle 
of  buckhorn;  a  knife  such  as  the  white  hunters 
and  the  men  of  the  river  carry  in  their  belts.  It 
had,  no  doubt,  fallen  from  under  the  priestly  gown 
in  the  altercation  so  lately  passed,  and  quick-witted 
Zizi  knew  that,  if  found,  it  would  be  an  added  cause 
of  offense  against  the  voyageur. 

"  When  the  morning  comes  again  they  will  be  far 


VENDA.  43 

in  the  wild  woods,"  she  told  herself.  "  But  Master 
Gaston  walks  like  that  for  madness,  and  the  night  is 
long  enough  for  him  —  for  devil  Zanalta — to  do  bad 
deeds  in,  and  the  knife  must  not  be  found  by  him." 

But  as  she  reached  for  it  and  stepped  back  again 
the  anklets  of  silver  she  wore  clinked  one  against 
the  other,  and  at  the  sound  her  master  turned 
quickly. 

She  was  standing  erect,  there  in  the  green,  watch 
ing  him  with  somber  eyes,  and  gave  him  the  impres 
sion  of  having  stood  there  a  long  time  watching  him. 

"  Sulking  still,  you  brown  devil  ?  "  he  growled,  as 
if  glad  to  find  some  object  to  vent  his  wrath  upon. 
"  Well,  you'll  have  cause  ;  doubt  it  not.  When  the 
sun  comes  up  to-morrow,  if  it  finds  you  absent  from 
the  indigo  fields,  fifty  lashes  will  be  added  to  that 
fine  mark  on  your  shoulder." 

Her  face  grew  ashen  at  his  words.  The  indigo 
fields !  There  among  the  black  cattle  who  called  her 
"the  proud"  and  "the  favorite."  No,  death  was 
best ;  and  she  held  more  closely  that  knife. 

"Master,  have  I  not  been  hurt  enough?  I  will 
be  good  once  more,  if  only  you  will  be  a  little  kind 
to  Zizi  — a  little  kind,  as  you  were  in  my  own  land. 
See,  I  tremble ;  I  am  afraid,  as  little  children ;  listen 
to  me;  be  kind." 

She  approached  him,  pleadingly,  her  eyes  moist 
with  tears  of  entreaty,  but  his  face  never  softened, 

"Be  kind  to  a  slave  who  dictates  terms  to  me? 
You  have  been  mad  for  many  months.  The  whip 
of  the  overseer  will  prove  a  most  excellent  cure  for 
that  malady." 


44  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

Mad?  Yes,  she  must  of  a  certainty  have  been 
that,  for  the  supremacy  of  the  master  was  forgot 
ten  by  her,  and  she  laughed,  though  her  lips  seemed 
stiff. 

"  The  whip  of  the  driver  !  Was  the  Zizi  you  knew 
among  the  palms  ever  touched  by  the  whip  ?  Did 
the  slaves  who  stooped  before  her  ever  feel  the 
weight  of  hot  irons?  You  are  wise  and  strong,  O 
my  master ;  but  slave  Zizi  that  you  did  steal  is 
stronger  now.  Before  a  whip  touches  her  she  will 
be  free  from  your  land." 

"  Hah !  You  voudou  devil,  do  you  mean  you 
will  raise  the  blacks?  By  the  saints,  I'll  have  your 
bones  broken  for  that  threat.  To  the  quarters !  " 

"No!" 

She  seemed  to  him  like  a  pythoness  with  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  a  woman,  and  her  form  grew  more 
majestic  as  if  swelling  with  some  dread  import 
not  to  be  worded,  and  her  eyes  had  yellow  lights 
in  them  and  were  terrible. 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said,  and  the  words  were  a  half 
whisper  in  her  earnestness.  "  I  beg  to  you  for  the 
last  time.  If  I  die  by  the  whips,  you  will  die  too,  my 
master,  die  in  the  dark  when  no  one  sees.  It  is  the 
life  of  you  I  beg  for ;  you  were  ever  dearest  to  Zizi. 
See  !  I  plead,  I  kneel  by  your  feet.  I  ask  that  you 
take  again  to  your  heart  the  thought  of  our  days  on 
my  own  lands ;  the  days  were  sweet ;  think  of  them ! 
Touch  my  hand  once  more  —  once  !  " 

Her  other  hand  was  hidden  under  the  loose  drap 
eries  of  her  bosom,  and  the  point  of  the  knife  was 
touching  the  spot  over  her  heart. 


VENDA.  45 

But  he  never  dreamed  that  death  was  the  freedom 
she  meant. 

4i  You  fool !  "  he  sneered,  and  struck  her  with  his 
foot.  "  Cattle  of  the  jungles,  begone  !  " 

It  was  his- last  word,  except  "  Holy  God!  '  as  he 
fell,  and  the  knife  meant  for  her  own  heart  was 
sunk  deep  into  his. 

He  never  moved,  and  a  great  sickness  swept  over 
her  as  she  looked  at  him.  The  sneer  was  gone  from 
his  lips.  He  lay  as  if  asleep  —  asleep  as  he  had 
slept  with  his  head  in  her  lap  through  the  hours  of 
one  sweet  moon. 

But  no  knife-hilt  rose  above  his  heart  then  ;  and 
with  a  moan  she  turned  blindly  from  the  path,  not 
heeding  her  direction.  But  the  spirits  of  her  Afric 
land  must  have  led  her  from  discovery,  for  just  then 
the  monk's  gown  entered  again  stealthily  the  outer 
gate.  He  was  coming  in  answer  to  the  message  she 
had  left  with  him  so  lately,  but  she  sank  down  under 
the  broad  leaves  of  a  strange  plant  there.  Earth 
and  sky  seemed  meeting  above  her ;  she  did  not  see 
him. 

But  other  eyes  did  —  the  eyes  of  Zanalta.  Impa 
tient  of  Gaston's  absence,  he  had  left  the  gay  party 
in  the  house  and  was  moving  along  the  path,  when 
he  heard  those  angry,  hurried  voices,  and  an  instant 
later  saw  his  friend  stretched  across  the  path. 

He  was  about  to  rush  forward,  when  he  saw  the 
lover  of  Felice  coming  straight  in  his  direction. 
He  watched  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes  that  presumpt 
uous  ranger  of  the  wilds  walking  to  fate. 

Assuredly  Saint  Satan  was  good  to  him,  and  to 


46  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

perfect  his  wishes  he  heard  close  behind  him  gay 
cavaliers,  who  were  calling  to  him  merrily  that  the 
wine  was  so  good  and  that  his  desertion  was  not  to 
be  pardoned. 

De  Bayarde  heard  them  too,  and  turned  to  retreat, 
when  his  eyes  fell  on  the  dead  form  there  —  dead 
on  the  spot  where  they  had  quarreled  so  short  a 
time  before  — dead,  with  a  knife  sticking  in  his 
heart  — that  knife! 

He  ran  forward,  dropping  on  his  knees  beside  the 
body.  It  was  incredible  ;  the  hand  he  touched  was 
yet  warm  —  not  a  minute  had  passed  since  he  had 
been  struck  down  ;  but  the  assassin  ? 

He  saw  that  other  man  coming  toward  him ;  he 
heard  the  gay  laughter  of  the  guests  change  into  low 
prayers  and  words  of  horror.  Questions  were 
poured  on  the  supposed  priest,  who  could  answer 
nothing ;  and  as  he  rose  from  beside  the  dead  form 
he  met  the  eyes  of  Zanalta  fastened  on  him  with  a 
gaze  so  peculiar  that  he  instinctively  shrank  from 
the  meaning  of  it. 

"  But  the  assassin  ?  "  demanded  one  of  the  gentle 
men.  "His  heart  has  scarce  ceased  to  beat;  the 
wretch  who  did  the  deed  can  not  have  gone  far ;  we 
must  search." 

"  Search   not  beyond   the  walls  of   the  garden," 
answered   Zanalta ;    <l  why   even   beyond   the   man 
whom  we  found  over  the  corpse  ?  " 
"  The  priest?" 

"  No,  not  a  priest ;  strip  that  gown  from  off  the 
assassin's  shoulders,  and  you  will  find  under  it  an 
adventurer,  a  ranger  of  the  rivers  called—" 


VENDA.  47 

"  De  Bayarde !  "  answered  the  voyageur,  himself 
flinging  aside  the  disguise  no  longer  needed.  "  Basil 
de  Bayarde,  gentlemen  ;  but  no  assassin." 

"Say  you  so?"  asked  Zanalta ;  "  then  it  is  your 
word  against  mine,  fellow,  for  I  heard  your  voices 
in  anger  in  the  garden.  I  hurried  here,  and  found 
you  about  to  flee  from  the  crime  at  your  feet ;  and 
see,  gentlemen,  notice  the  hilt  of  the  knife,  a  knife 
such  as  river  men  wear." 

"  And  on  it  letters  —  the  saints  guard  us  !  —  they 
spell  '  Bayarde.' ' 

The  young  ranger  gazed  on  the  dark  faces  in 
wonder.  He  seemed  stunned  by  the  weight  of  accu 
sation  brought  against  him.  And  then  from  the 
house  ran  Felice  to  the  spot  where  they  told  her  the 
master  was  hurt.  But  once  there  she  gave  scarce  a 
glance  at  the  body  of  her  uncle,  but  with  a  face  full 
of  horror  she  turned  to  her  lover. 

"  You  have  killed  him  this  time,"  she  whispered. 
"  Oh,  Basil !  " 

"  Felice,  do  you  accuse  — 

"  Accuse  you  ?  Never  that,  never.  You  hear,  gen 
tlemen  ?  you  listen  ?  It  is  my  uncle  who  lies  there, 
yet  I  accuse  —  accuse  no  one." 

And  for  the  second  time  that  day  she  swayed, 
deathlike,  toward  him.  But  he  read,  as  the  others 
read,  her  real  suspicion  under  that  loyal  protest, 
and  something  like  a  groan  arose  at  sight  of  her. 

"  You  too,  Felice  ? "  he  murmured,  and  then  turned 
to  the  others.  "  You  wish  to  arrest  me,  I  see,  and 
for  a  murder.  I  have  never  committed  one;  but 
there  stands  a  man  who  has  lied  to  accuse  me, 


48  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

and  as  your  good  laws,  gentlemen,  will  doubtless  ask 
my  life  to-morrow,  my  debts  to  this  world  must  be 
paid  quickly,  and  to  him  I  owe  death." 

And  then  he  leaped  over  the  body  of  Le  Noyens, 
and  full  at  Zanalta's  throat.  But  a  dozen  forms 
were  hurled  against  him,  and  he  was  dragged  back 
ward,  leaving  Zanalta  unharmed  but  a  little  breath 
less  ;  and  as  the  slave-girl  came  forward  through  the 
shrubbery,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  horror  there,  the 
eyes  of  the  Spaniard  met  hers,  with  a  wealth  of 
meaning  in  them. 

"  Assist  your  mistress,  Zizi.  And  for  this  assault 
upon  myself,  and  for  the  murder  I  was  witness  to, 
this  fellow  shall  have  a  sentence  heavier  than  death 
itself  —  transportation  for  life  to  the  mines  of 
Mexico." 

The  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other  in  horror. 
The  mines  were  a  hell,  even  to  the  black  giants  of 
their  land  ;  and  this  bright-haired  youth  — 
"  "  Gentlemen,  if  I  am  condemned  for  this  crime  — 
if  there  is  councilor  or  judge  among  you  all,  I  ask 
of  you  death  —  for  death.    I  have  fought  for  this  col 
ony  against  the  reds  of  the  north.     I  ask  the  death 
of  a  soldier." 

At  the  word  *  death '  the  slave-girl  stepped  for 
ward,  but  Zanalta  checked  her  with  a  glance. 

"  I  am  of  the  council,"  he  retorted,  "so  I  promise 
you  an  assassin  shall  not  have  the  death  of  a  soldier 
under  our  laws.  Die  you  .shall  —  but  in  the  mines, 
where  devils  of  your  own  kind  congregate,  and  the 
death  will  not  be  swift." 

The  accused  raised  his  hand  as   if  in  prophecy. 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.        49 

"  Beware,  then,  the  day  of  my  return,  for  the  dead 
come  back,  they  say,  and  on  the  day  when  God's 
hand  frees  me,  I  shall  remember  you? 

Zanalta  tried  to  laugh,  but  failed ;  and  as  two  of 
the  gentlemen  touched  Bayarde's  arms  to  lead  him 
away,  the  slave-girl  again  motioned  appealingly  to 
the  vSpaniard,  but  his  eyes  were  bent  on  her  so 
threateningly  that  she  slowly  bowed  her  head,  and 
avoided  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner,  who  turned  toward 
her  with  a  mute  farewell  for  Felice. 

And  the  old  gray  parrot  in  the  arbor  chattered 
over  and  over  a  name  it  had  heard  so  lately  —  a  new 
name,  and  strange  as  new  music  on  the  ear  — 
"  venda  —  venda  —  vendaient !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE. 

SLOWLY  as  time  loiters  in  the  South  lands,  and 
drowsily  as  the  days  pass  under  the  myrtles,  yet  the 
seasons  are  driven  onward,  each  in  its  turn,  and 
many  had  passed  ere  the  record  of  life  on  the  island 
by  the  many-mouthed  river  is  resumed. 

And  it  is  a  finer  life  than  of  old,  despite  hurri 
canes  that  had  swept  it,  and  disease  that  had  often 
weakened  it.  Names  and  families  had  grown 
stronger,  commerce  had  widened,  plantations  had 
driven  the  jungles  farther  back  from  the  gulf- 
only  the  waters  remained  the  same,  and  the  green- 
fenced  bayous  still  held  many  a  mystery. 


50  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

And  of  the  names  known  widely  in  the  growing 
town,  none  held  more  power  than  that  of  Zanalta. 
Youth  was  no  longer  his,  nor  yet  age  ;  but  the  man 
of  forty  had  developed  all  the  promise  of  Diego 
eighteen  years  earlie'r  —  a  good  comrade,  a  courte 
ous  cavalier,  a  thorough  politician.  Not  an  office 
held  by  a  servant  of  Spain  was  beyond  the  range  of 
his  ambitious  hopes,  and  many  prophesied  that  he 
would  yet  be  ruler  in  the  new  land. 

Was  it  for  such  ambitions  that  he  was  yet  a  bach 
elor —  that,  despite  his  gallantries  to  the  many,  he 
had  not  yet  devoted  his  life  to  the  happiness  of  any 
one  lady  ? 

There  were  those  who  remembered  that  he  was 
once  the  suitor  of  beautiful  dead  Felice  St.  Malo, 
and  whispered  that  as  the  cause  of  his  celibacy.  He 
smiled  a  little  when  these  whispers  reached  him, 
and  reaped  the  benefit  of  sympathy  bent  on  him 
through  soft  eyes.  It  is  so  much  easier  for  women 
to  forgive  constancy  to  a  dead  rival  than  to  a  living 
one. 

But  the  faces  of  women  were  seldom  lacking  in 
his  establishment.  His  house  was  a  hospitable  one  ; 
a  sister-in-law  from  old  Spain,  and  a  half-sister,  wid 
owed,  yet  childish,  were  of  his  household,  and 
beauty  of  high  degree  gathered  often  in  his  garden 
and  under  the  arches  of  his  dwelling-place,  while 
slaves  by  the  score  called  him  master. 

And  in  the  spring-time  of  '92,  when  a  ship  of 
France  arrived  in  the  harbor  with  the  exciting- 
intelligence  of  revolt  that  was  openly  talked  of  in 
the  streets  of  Paris,  and  when  among  other  stran- 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.         51 

gers  to  disembark  came  two  cavaliers,  young,  engag 
ing,  and  utter  strangers,  it  was  to  the  hospitable 
roof  of  Diego  Zanalta  they  were  recommended  by 
the  captain  of  the  vessel.  Had  they  letters  of  intro 
duction  to  people  who  could  not  be  found  ?  Then 
most  assuredly  Don  Diego  would  be  the  one  to 
advise  them;  and  the  gracious  commander,  who 
scented  reflected  glory  from  those  bejeweled  court 
iers,  even  took  it  upon  himself  to  be  their  messen 
ger,  and  found  the  family  about  to  leave  for  a  fete 
to  be  celebrated  at  the  house  of  one  of  the  high 
dignitaries  of  the  town  —  one  Monsieur  Victor 
Lamort,  an  exile  from  the  shores  of  France,  but 
one  who  had  brought  so  much  of  wealth  into  exile 
with  him  that  he  lived  like  a  prince  in  the  city  of 
jungles,  and  was  even  called  by  the  people  "  Le 
Grande  Marquis." 

Don  Diego  had  already  gone,  but  to  the  dazzled 
eyes  of  Le  Commandant  there  appeared  instead  the 
vision  of  a  petite  dame  vested  in  the  bewildering 
garb  of  a  court  lady,  and  from  nodding  plume  to 
silvered  slipper  there  floated  tissues  of  rose,  and 
her  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  child  who  laughs. 

"  In  truth  I  am  sorry  my  brother  is  not  to  be  seen, 
but  learning  you  are  commander  of  the  foreign 
vessel  just  landed,  I  have  ventured  to  present  my 
insignificant  self  in  his  august  stead.  Now  pray  tell 
me  if  your  business  is  of  weight.  If  so  I  may  chance 
to  further  it." 

Business !  The  ruler  of  a  ship  and  many  men 
was  confused  and  dismayed  by  so  fair  an  ambassa 
dress.  She  prompted  a  man  to  make  such  declara- 


52  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

tions  of  love  with  his  eyes  that,  abashed  by  his  own 
willingness,  his  glances  sought  the  tiled  floor  while 
he  strove  to  recall  the  reason  for  his  presence  there. 

Ah,  yes ;  those  annoying  cavaliers  from  France 
who  waited  his  return.  Was  he  then  to  open  the 
gate  for  them  to  so  much  of  beauty  ?  How  hard  it 
is  at  times  to  keep  envy  out  of  the  heart ! 

And  the  little  lady  was  interested  so  greatly. 
Nobles  from  France  —  fresh  from  the  court  life  of 
Versailles,  perhaps  —  of  a  certainty  their  society  was 
to  be  desired. 

"  I  will  myself  be  their  message-bearer  to  my 
brother,"  she  conceded,  graciously.  "  Tell  me  again 
their  names  and  where  they  are  to  be  found." 

"  Mademoiselle  — 

"Madame,"  she  corrected;  "Madame  Ninon  Vil- 
lette." 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  madame." 

"  One  is  enough,  and  it  is  granted.  The  names 
of  the  gentlemen  ?" 

"  First,  Chevalier  Maurice  Delogne,  late  of  the 
king's  household,  Versailles." 

"Oh-h!  this  is  indeed  news  of  import;  and  the 
other?" 

"  Monsieur  Constante  Raynel,  a  friend  of  the 
chevalier." 

"  And  their  wishes  ? " 

"  They  carry  letters  of  introduction  to  some  whose 
names  have  been  unknown  in  the  town  for  many 
years.  Don  Zanalta  having  much  knowledge  of 
men,  I  thought  would  be  able  to  advise  them  as  to 
where  it  were  best  to  seek  those  people." 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.        53 

"  I  am  convinced  you  are  a  most  sensible  and 
kind-hearted  gentleman,  and  you  did  right  to  seek 
our  house  in  the  case  of  the  strangers.  I  go  at  once 
to  the  fete,  and  am  assured  my  brother  will  send 
immediately  an  invitation  for  the  chevalier  and  his 
friend  to  wait  upon  him.  Where  are  they  to  be 
found?" 

"  By  my  faith,  that  is  a  question  not  so  easy  to 
answer,  madame.  I  can  only  tell  where  I  left  them, 
and  that  was  near  the  banquette,  and  the  chevalier 
was  bribing  little  demi-sauvages  and  black  children 
to  stand  still,  or  lie  down,  or  dance,  according  to  the 
mood  of  Monsieur  Ray n el,  who  did  catch  all  their 
strange  postures  and  fix  them  upon  paper  by  the 
aid  of  a  charcoal-stick,  and  the  two  were  laughing 
like  children,  and  may  have  wandered  far  in  advent 
ure  ere  this." 

The  childish  eyes  of  madame  grew  more  round, 
and  she  smiled  in  sympathy  with  those  two  whom 
she  had  not  yet  seen. 

"  Then  I  am  to  think  they  are  not  old,  those  two 
gentlemen  who  seek  for  adventure  on  our  shores?  " 

"  I  venture  to  say  they  will  never  feel  old  when 
they  look  at  you,  madame."  And  having  thus 
turned  aside  her  curiosity  by  a  compliment,  Monsieur 
le  Commandant  withdrew  himself  from  the  presence 
of  Ninon  —  Madame  Villette  —  and  madame,  when 
alone,  sighed  distressfully,  and  pouted  those  fine  lips 
of  hers  most  becomingly. 

"  In  truth  I  am  sadly  weary  of  these  gallants  of 
our  Orleans  town,  and  did  hope  this  chevalier  and 
this  Constante  of  the  charcoal-stick  would  at  least 


54  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

have  youth,  and  make  it  worth  one's  time  to  fash 
ion  new  gowns  for  their  eyes.  Alas !  this  island  is  a 
cage,  and  I  am  weary  of  pluming  myself  when 
young  eyes  never  look  through  the  bars.  *  They 
will  never  feel  old  when  they  look  at  you,  madame,' 
and  she  bowed  mockingly  to  her  own  reflection  in 
the  mirror ;  which  means,  in  short,  that  they  are 
gray-bearded  ancients;  Jupiters,  who  would  make 
love  as  they  forge  thunderbolts,  ponderously.  I 
prefer  an  Adonis." 

And  those  gray-bearded  ancients  ? 

Down  where  the  water  whimpered  along  the 
banquette  as  though  afraid  of  the  night  coming  on 
strolled  the  two  strangers,  rinding  the  strange  out 
door  life  much  more  to  their  liking  than  the  cafe 
where  they  had  agreed  to  live  for  the  present. 

The  sun  was  sending  arrows  of  yellow  glinting 
across  the  great  slow-moving  river,  and  gave  so  fine 
a  background  for  the  human  pictures  ever  and  anon 
arranging  themselves  unconsciously  for  an  artist 
eye. 

"  Sacrc!  I  never  before  dreamed  that  a  ndgresse 
could  be  good  to  look  at,"  said  he  of  the  charcoal- 
stick,  as  he  stretched  himself  along  a  wooden 
bench  and  gazed  through  eyes  half-closed  at  a  little 
black  girl  whose  arm  circled  a  basket  of  oranges. 
"  Think,  Maurice,  how  disastrous  it  would  be  if  I 
should  have  crossed  the  seas  only  to  lose  my  heart 
to  one  of  these  bare-legged  bits  of  bronze  flesh,  or 
perchance  a  feather-trimmed  savage  of  that  rich 
red  color  such  as  we  saw  pass  in  the  log  boat.  I 
tremble,  my  friend  ;  I  warn  you  I  am  afraid." 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.        55 

"  Lose  your  heart,  pouf !  Your  head,  you  mean  ; 
for  I'll  venture  an  oath  it  would  not  be  less  than  the 
hundredth  heart-break  you  have  lived  through  since 
we  left  our  school-books.  I  wonder  much  whether 
it  is  your  art  which  tempts  you  to  beauty,  and  love, 
or  love  that  has  rendered  you  an  artist  ? " 

"  The  latter,  I  do  believe.  I  always  fall  in  love  with 
my  model,  else  the  work  has  no  interest  for  me;  hence 
my  rule  to  paint  only  that  which  is  beautiful.  It  is 
so  horrible  to  fall  in  love  with  ugliness,  and  it  is 
dangerous,  too.  For  once  allow  an  ugly  woman  to 
fascinate  you,  and  her  chain  is  of  iron  ;  that  of 
beauty  is  of  flowers,  and  when  faded  will  fall  to 
pieces  of  its  own  weight." 

"  You  speak  wisely  as  a  past-master  in  the  art  of 
love,"  smiled  his  friend;  "but  however  entrancing 
the  subject  of  the  sentiments,  I  deplore  the  fact  that 
you  so  frequently  succumb  to  its  allurements." 

"  Enough ;  do  not  resume  on  these  shores  the  lect 
ures  on  reason  which  caused  me  so  many  weary 
hours  in  the  land  we  left ;  and,  after  all,  the  heart  has 
reasons  which  reason  can  not  comprehend." 

"  You  are  a  hopeless  affair,  Constante.  We  arrive 
here  to  begin  life  anew,  do  work,  I  know  not  what 
yet.  Surely  our  prospects  are  most  serious ;  yet  we 
have  scarce  touched  the  shore  of  the  strangers  when 
you  see  a  red  maiden  paddling  in  a  boat,  a  black  one 
vending  fruit  on  the  street,  and  at  once  dream  of  a 
rendezvous.  Ah  !  alas  for  myself  that  I  am  fond  of 
you,  else  my  patience  would  surely  break.  You  de 
mand  everything  of  life,  yet  are  willing  to  work  for 
so  little.  A  man's  life  should  hold  action  as  well  as 


56  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

dreams.     And  your  ambitions  —  your  hopes  for  the 
future  ?" 

"  Simple,  my  friend,  most  simple,  I  assure  you  ; 
only  to  live  in  this  semi-tropical  land  as  in  the  Gar 
den  of  Eden  our  Father  Adam  lived  —  " 

"Ah!" 

"After  the  fall!" 

"  By  my  faith,  now,  but  I  would  like  to  see  some 
maiden  of  this  savage  land  bring  you  to  your  senses 
with  a  love  that  would  burn  your  light  fancies  into 
forgetfulness.  You  see  in  love  only  a  pretty  comedy, 
to  be  played  by  two,  and  with  a  laughing  world  for 
an  audience,  while  love,  the  real,  is  more  often  a 
tragedy.  All  devotion,  passion,  is  a  lonely,  serious 
thing.  It  is  the  great  teacher,  but  its  eyes  do  not 
laugh." 

His  friend  laughed  silently,  and  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  in  the  air  with  which  to  exorcise  so  for 
midable  a  spirit  as  serious,  tragical  devotion. 

"Could  I  find  Monsieur  Cupid  I  would  send  him 
to  you  for  lessons,  Maurice.  You  would  teach  him 
to  make  every  gallant  a  poet.  I  wonder  now  what 
fair  instructress  has  influenced  your  ideas  to  such 
serious  reflections,  you  that  kiss  a  lady's  fingers  ; 
but  — oh,  well,  am  I  to  believe,  then,  the  gossip  of 
the  guard-room,  and  think  for  a  truth  that  the  inter 
est  of  Madame  la  Princess  de  H-  -  was  that  of  a 
butterfly  ready  to  be  caught,  rather  than  that  of  an 
illustrious  patroness  of  deserving  soldiery,  or  rather 
one  handsome  soldier.  That  finale  deserves  your 
best  bow,  my  chevalier." 

"You  need  a  sound   caning,  Monsieur  Imperti- 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.        57 

nence,"  retorted  the  other,  as  a  slow  blush  covered 
his  face.  "  If  Madame  la  Princess  needs  consolation 
it  will  not  be  to  courtiers  she  will  turn,  but  to  God. 
Her  illustrious  but  unhappy  life  may  make  of  her  a 
saint,  but  never  a  Messalina." 

"  You  think  so  because  she  resisted  the  temptation 
of  her  heart,  and  sent  you  so  far  she  could  not  recall 
you,  eh  ?  Oh,  I  see !  I  observed  several  things 
there  at  Versailles,  my  friend,  though  you  give  me 
no  credit  for  seeing  things  seriously.  But  I  am 
proud  of  you,  just  the  same,  for  doing  the  thing  I 
fear  —  oh,  my  tender  heart !  —  I  fear  I  should  not  have 
found  resolution  to  do.  Your  blush  and  your  silence 
do  you  honor,  Maurice,  and  they  honor  that  lady 
across  the  seas  who  was  so  cruel  as  to  banish  you." 

"  The  lady  across  the  seas,  whose  influence  directed 
me  here,  was  my  aunt,  Le  Marquise  de  Lescure. 
Please  bear  that  in  mind,  Constante.  The  princess 
belongs  to  the  life  we  have  left,  and  is  not  a  subject 
for  jests.  It  was  my  aunt  who  urged  my  coming 
here  to  look  after  some  properties  bought  here  long 
since  by  some  friend.  I  have  scarce  looked  at  the 
letters  of  instructions  yet.  She  asked  me  not  to  do  so 
until  after  my  arrival.  Even  the  letters  of  introduc 
tion  have  not  been  examined  by  me,  though  I  am 
convinced  they  are  all  right.  Since  my  birth  she  has 
been  like  a  mother  to  me  ;  and  while  I  am  puzzled  at 
her  earnest  desire  that  I  should  leave  France  for  five 
years,  and  build  up  interests  here,  yet  I  have  refused 
her  nothing  all  my  life,  and  did  not  withhold  the 
promise.  I  only  want  you  to  understand,  once  for 
all,  Constante,  that  it  was  for  family  reasons  and  my 
aunt's  desire  that  I  am  here." 


58  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Urn  !  yes.  I  understand,  also,  that  the  lovely 
old  marquise  is  the  closest  friend,  the  confidante  of 
Madame  la  Princess.  Ah,  Maurice,  you  would  never 
make  a  politician,  for  you  would  be  in  the  midst  of 
plots,  yet  never  unbend  to  ferret  them  out.  If 
they  grew  too  thick,  or  hedged  you  around,  you 
would  cut  your  way  through  with  the  help  of  your 
sword.  But  when  women  plot,  swords  are  worthless 
as  the  rushes  there  by  the  river.  And  whether  you 
know  it  or  not,  my  comrade,  not  one  woman,  but  two, 
drew  up  your  plan  of  exile." 

"  And  how  many  your  own,  you  romancer?  " 

"  My  own  ?  Happy  am  I  to  answer  —  none.  You 
see  I  have  not  had  the  misfortune  to  be  loved  seri 
ously  by  a  saint ;  and  the  consequence  is,  I  had  not 
to  take  a  discreet  farewell  by  touching  a  lady's  fingers 
with  my  mustache.  I  assure  you,  no!  I  kissed 
three  maids  of  honor  most  beautifully,  and  was 
about  to  complete  a  quartette  when  the  husband  of 
number  four  was  so  inconsiderate  as  to  enter  the 
audience-chamber.  Ah,  these  husbands!  By  the 
time  I  become  one,  I  hope  to  have  learned  the  lesson 
of  making  my  wife  happy  occasionally  by  effacing 
myself." 

"  When  you  are  a  husband?  Who  do  you  fancy 
will  live  to  see  that  day?" 

"  Both  of  us,  believe  it.  I  am  not  the  Chevalier 
Maurice  Delogne,  with  an  ancient  name  and  prospect 
ive  worldly  comforts.  I  am  only  '  that  droll  rascal 
Raynel,'  who  has  a  curious  talent  with  colors,  but 
who  lacks  the  application  to  make  himself  great. 
Well,  it  is  so.  I  am  content,  to  drift  with  you  and 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.         59 

trust  to  fortune  while  I  may.  But  I  warn  you  that 
if  a  female  Croesus  should  cross  our  path,  I  speak  for 
her.  She  is  mine  —  do  you  comprehend?  —  for  I 
need  her,  while  you  do  not.  And  if  I  should  want 
help  in  my  wooing,  or  if  other  suitors  intervene  and 
have  to  be  — well —  removed,  I  bespeak  your  aid  in 
the  cause  of  true  love." 

"  Love  of  the  lady's  purse,  but  not  her  heart. 
And  what  if  the  Lady  Croesus  should  be  ugly,  and 
old,  and  unpleasing,  then  what  would  our  devotee  of 
beauty  do  ?  " 

"  Win  her,  beyond  a  doubt ;  for  I  would  commence 
my  wooing  by  painting  her  a  mask  with  so  much  of 
youth  and  charm  in  it  that  she  would  grant  me  the 
rest  of  her  life  as  a  reward  for  my  devotion." 

"  Constante,  do  you  never  grow  weary  of  your  own 
fanciful  dreams?  Here  have  we  talked  of  trifles 
until  the  sun  has  gone.  You  must  wait  until  another 
day  to  continue  your  finding  of  pictures."  And  the 
chevalier  arose  to  continue  the  walk  to  the  cafe? 
when  Constante  gripped  his  arm  and  made  a  low 
whistling  sound  with  his  lips  —  an  expression  of 
surprise. 

"  By  all  the  tints  of  angel  faces  —  no  !  "  he  whis 
pered  ;  "turn  not  too  quickly  lest  she  vanish  again 
to  paradise,  but  note  that  crippled  one-armed  sailor 
and  the  being  who  bends  over  him !  Sacre!  I 
myself  would  lose  an  arm  for  such  a  glance  of  pity 
from  those  eyes.  Aye,  even  my  head." 

"You  have  lost  the  latter  already,"  returned  his 
friend,  irritably  ;  "  and  as  a  cause  I  see  only  a  slight 
figure  in  a  nun's  dress  of  gray,  but  with  white 


60  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

sleeves.  I  can  see  no  face,  because  of  that  gray 
nun's  hood,  so  fail  to  discover  your  reason  for 
raving.  She  looks,  however,  as  though  she  might 
be  the  very  spirit  of  charity  from  the  way  in  which 
that  unfortunate  is  gazing  upward  to  her  —  but  you, 
my  friend,  do  not  need  alms,  so  come." 

They  were  but  a  short  distance  from  the  object  of 
their  conversation,  who  was  in  the  way  of  their 
walk.  It  seemed  a  very  poor  quarter  of  the  town 
into  which  they  had  wandered  —  a  sort  of  open-air 
hospital  for  unfortunates  —  and  as  the  gray-garbed 
nun  turned  from  the  crippled  man  to  a  woman  who 
held  a  sickly,  complaining  child,  she  came  face  to 
face  with  the  two  strangers,  and  the  chevalier  was  so 
directly  in  her  path  that  for  one  awkward  instant 
they  essayed  to  pass  each  other,  yet  remained  to 
gaze  with  mutual  wondering  attraction  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

And  then  he  was  not  surprised  at  the  enthusiasm 
of  his  friend,  for  the  face  was  so  wonderful,  with 
all  its  childishness  subdued  by  the  nun-like  dress, 
and  the  bronze-gold  hair  framed  in  the  gray  hood, 
and  those  eyes  with  their  serious  directness,  in 
color  the  blue-gray  of  the  Mexican  sea  at  twilight. 

All  this  he  saw  in  that  moment,  and  had  time  to 
be  glad  that  the  waved  hair  about  her  face  forbade 
the  idea  that  she  was  entirely  given  to  the  church. 
And  then  he  found  himself  with  head  bared  before 
her,  and  murmured  words  for  pardon  as  he  stepped 
from  her  path.  She  made  no  reply,  but  the  grace 
of  her  glance  was  evidence  she  thought  him  no  cul 
prit,  and  the  faint  flush  creeping  over  her  face  made 
his  breath  come  quickly. 


TWO  STRANGERS  FROM  FRANCE.        61 

He  had  forgotten  Constante,  but  that  gentleman 
had  neither  forgotten  nor  missed  anything  of  the 
wordless  drama  before  him.  He  touched  his 
friend's  arm  with  a  comical  expression  of  despair,  as 
though  to  lead  him  from  temptation,  while  a  pon 
derous  sigh  was  evidence  that  he  noted  his  friend's 
backward  glance. 

"  And  she  never  looked  at  me,"  he  complained. 
"  To  be  sure  I  am  not  so  largely  built  as  you,  but  I 
am  quite  as  handsome.  The  only  thing  that  con 
soles  me,  Maurice,  is  that  she  is,  by  her  garb,  not 
my  Lady  Crcesus,  so  I  can  relinquish  her  to  you  with 
one  heartache  the  less." 

"  A  truce,  Constante.  It  is  provoking  enough  to 
remember  I  have  stared  at  that  child  until  her  face 
changed  color  with  vexation ;  remind  me  not  of  it. 
But,  as  gentlemen,  is  it  not  a  duty  for  us  to  remain 
near  until  we  see  her  depart  from  this  region  in 
safety?  We  heard  strange,  rough  oaths  down 
there  by  those  fisher-huts,  and  that  way  is  her  face 
turned.  She  may  be  some  innocent  who  has 
strayed  thus  far  in  work  of  charity,  and  suspects  not 
the  dangerous  surroundings.  Is  that  your  idea  ?  " 

"I  have  not  an  idea  in  my  head  —  the  last  one 
vanished  when  I  saw  her  face ;  but  it  may  chance 
I  can  borrow  one  from  the  man  she  spoke  to." 

And  before  Maurice  could  remonstrate,  the  impet 
uous  youth  had  crossed  the  walk  and  was  speaking 
to  the  one-armed  sailor. 

"  Who  ?  Oh,  that  is  our  Denise,  St.  Denise,  so  the 
sailors  call  her ;  and  many  a  saint  is  pictured  in  for 
eign  churches  who  had  never  so  kind  a  hand  for  the 


62  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

poor  and  miserable,  and  by  my  oath  was  never  so 
beautiful." 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  it ;  we  are  strangers,  and  feared 
that  so  much  of  beauty  may  have  cause  for  fear 
among  those  rough  comrades  over  there.  Has  she 
friends  or  guardian  near?  " 

"  Your  question  proves  you  a  stranger" — and  the 
man  looked  at  him  with  sharp  scrutiny — "and  I 
•would  tell  you,  my  fine  gallant,  that  you  had  best 
dance  elsewhere  for  a  partner.  A  guardian  ?  Why, 
boy,  there  is  not  along  all  this  shore  a  man  so  low 
that  he  would  not  jump  at  the  honor  of  fighting  for 
Denise.  Guardians  ?  I  could  call  a  score  of  them 
from  where  I  sit ;  so  go  your  ways  and  save  your 
time." 

"  Come,  Constante,  you  will  only  be  misjudged 
for  your  pains ;  we  will  learn  of  others  concerning 
the  lady.  But  I  am  glad  enough  to  hear  she  is  so 
safe." 

"  I'll  get  myself  a  wooden  leg  to-morrow," 
decided  the  artist.  But  his  friend  halted  him  with 
a  rather  close  grip  on  the  arm. 

"  I  will  take  care  that  you  do  nothing  of  the  kind," 
he  answered,  decidedly,  "  and  I  assure  you  that  the 
Lady  Denise  shall  not  be  added  to  your  list  of  mod 
els.  I  have  borne  with  your  whims,  you  must  bear 
with  mine  in  this  ;  do  you  comprehend  ?  " 

Constante  only  looked  at  him  a  little  wickedly 
from  out  the  corner  of  his  eye,  but  uttered  no  word 
beyond  a  low  muttering,  which  continued  as  they 
walked  onward,  and  Maurice  noticed  that  his  hands 
were  clasped  devoutly. 


"  MASTER,    BUY    MB:  !  "  63 

"What  new  mischief  are  you  brewing?"  he 
demanded. 

"  Mischief  ?  Ah,  you  wrong  me,  monsieur.  I  but 
say  a  prayer  for  the  memory  of  Madame  la  Princess, 
a  memory  buried  at  sunset  on  the  shores  of  Orleans, 
and  under  curls  of  deepest  bronze." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"MASTER,  BUY   ME  !" 

ADVENTURE  seemed  to  be  abroad  in  their  path 
that  first  evening,  for  they  had  but  reached  again  the 
main  thoroughfare,  and  were  passing  a  caft  cJian- 
tant,  where  the  sons  of  planters  and  the  younger 
gallants  of  the  town  were  often  seen,  when  the  door 
burst  open  and  a  struggling  couple  staggered  out, 
flanked  on  either  side  by  friends,  remonstrating, 
urging,  and  cursing. 

The  crowd  gathering  so  quickly  was  of  all  tints 
and  character,  but  it  seemed  impossible  for  any  in 
authority  to  penetrate  to  the  doorway  where  those 
two  struggled  for  possession  and  use  of  a  knife  held 
high  in  the  hand  of  the  tallest. 

A  gentleman  halted  near  Maurice  and  Constante, 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  flung  himself  against 
the  crowd  as  if  to  crush  them  aside  with  his 
weight. 

But  quick  as  light  a  woman  sped  before  him. 

"  Hist !    master,"  she  said,  shrilly,  and  threw  up 


64  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

her  hand  to  check  him ;  "  for  a  slave  it  does  not  mat 
ter —  wait! " 

She  had  dropped  a  great  basket  at  the  feet  of  the 
two  strangers,  and  having  succeeded  in  turning 
aside  the  gentleman,  she  seemed  to  drop  among  the 
feet  of  the  swaying  crowd,  and  an  instant  later  reap 
peared  farther  in  the  circle. 

Room  was  made  for  her  with  astonishing  readi 
ness  —  men  shrank  from  her  touch  ;  and  when  she 
reached  those  two,  and  leaped  upward  like  an  ani 
mal  at  that  hand  holding  the  knife,  there  was  a 
smothered  cry  went  up  from  the  watching  people. 
Would  it  mean  death  ? 

But  the  very  suddenness  of  her  grasp  secured  it 
without  a  struggle,  and  in  an  instant  it  was  flung 
from  her  high  in  the  air,  and  the  people  scattered, 
with  cries  of  fear  lest  it  fall  on  their  heads,  but  they 
never  saw  it  come  down.  Oaths  came  from  some 
mouths,  others  crossed  themselves  in  fear. 

11  The  black  witch  !  " 

"  Think  you  she  swallowed  it  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  that  devil-marked  voudou  !  " 

And  in  the  excitement  the  wrangler  who  had  held 
the  knife  slipped  away,  leaving  the  youth  who  was 
his  partner  in  the  quarrel  standing  alone,  looking 
ashamed  and  puzzled,  while  the  woman  walked 
quietly  back  and  picked  up  her  basket. 

"  Thank  you,  masters,"  she  said,  softly,  noting 
that  the  strangers  had  guarded  it  for  her;  "  you  are 
kind." 

Before  they  could  speak,  the  man  whom  she  had 
checked  crossed  to  her  and  touched  her  arm. 


"  MASTER,    BUY    ME  !  "  65 

"You  sought  to  favor  me,  girl,  and  you  did  a 
brave  thing  there.  Tell  me  your  name." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  perhaps  in  embarrass 
ment,  and  arranged  a  kerchief  over  her  hair— hair 
strangely  white  above  the  dark-imaged  face  — hair 
for  which  they  called  her  "devil-marked." 

"My  name  — Venda." 

;<  Venda  —  and  your  master's  name?  " 

"  Master  Diego  Zanalta." 

"Ah,  I  know  him  well,  and  recall  now  that  I 
have  seen  your  face  in  his  house.  Well,  Venda,  I 
shall  take  heed  that  your  master  knows  how  care 
ful  you  are  of  his  friends,  and  if  there  is  aught 
beyond  a  gold-piece  I  can  do  for  you,  speak." 

She  hesitated,  glancing  at  the  two  strangers,  and 
the  chevalier  bowed  to  her  questioner. 

"  Pardon  us,  monsieur  ;  we  have  forgotten  we  were 
eavesdroppers  in  our  admiration  of  the  work  just 
performed  by  this  woman,  whom  you  do  well  to 
praise.  We  will  withdraw." 

"  I  beg  you,  no,  young  gentlemen  ;  our  interest  is 
mutual,  since  the  case  seems  strange  to  us  both. 
Speak,  Venda,  without  fear  —  your  wish?" 

"Master  Lamort  ? " 

"Yes  —  well?" 

' '  Master  —  buy  me ! ' ' 

"  Buy  you?     Well,  on  my  word,  this  is  a  strange 
request.     I  shall  ask  your  reasons  for  it.     You  are 
^valuable,  no  doubt ;  but  why  should  I  deprive  Don 
Zanalta  of  a  treasure  ?  " 

;<  You  are  Alcalde  ;  you  are  kind  to  slaves,  to  the 
red  Indians,  even.  You  know  many  masters  take 


66  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

slaves  because  they  live  on  land  new-bought ;  so 
Master  Zanalta  took  me  and  land  for  debt.  He  has 
many  others." 

"  And  so  have  I,  Venda,  and  life  in  my  house  is 
not  joyous  as  there  in  that  of  Zanalta  where  ladies 
laugh.  I  have  no  beauty  for  you  to  serve." 

"  Master,  I  know  what  you  have,  many  hands  to 
bear  burdens,  many  feet  to  run  swiftly ;  but  I  know 
what  you  need,  one  heart  to  be  faithful,  one  whose 
eyes  see  in  the  dark,  one  whose  ears  are  ever  awake 
if  danger  hides  near,  one  whose  hand  is  ever  ready 
to  grasp  a  knife  for  your  cause,  as  —  as  Venda  did 
but  now,  master." 

She  dropped  her  gaze  under  his  sharp  scrutiny ; 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  he  smiled 
carelessly. 

"  To  grasp  a  knife  for  me  in  the  cause  of  peace? 
Well,  Venda,  you  do  me  honor  to  make  choice  of 
me  for  master ;  but  I  am  growing  old  and  slow  of 
thought ;  I  must  have  time  before  making  decision. 
Above  all,  I  must  speak  to  your  master.  So  mean 
while  — 

He  yet  held  in  his  jeweled  fingers  the  piece  of 
gold  drawn  from  his  purse,  more  than  the  slave  had 
ever  owned,  perhaps,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  your  gold,  master;  so,  master,  good-night." 

"  A  most  strange  one,  truly,"  commented  the 
gentleman,  pocketing  again  the  money.  "  I  venture 
to  say  her  twin  has  never  been  born.  Pray  you,  did 
either  of  you  see  the  stiletto  fall?  I  have  seen 
such  feats  among  conjurers  of  the  Far  East,  but  it  is 
strange  to  see  it  in  this  new  land  and  through  an 
untaught  slave." 


"  MASTER,   BUY   ME  !  "  67 

"  She  seems  less  ignorant  than  many,"  declared 
the  chevalier,  "  and  her  courage  makes  her  a  bit 
wonderful,  so  it  seems  to  us,  at  least ;  but  we  are 
new  to  your  shores,  and  have  much  to  grow  accus 
tomed  to." 

"You  are,  then,  strangers?  I  judged  as  much; 
and  from  France  ?  If  so,  we  are  like  to  meet  again, 
as  the  passports  of  strangers  often  need  me  for 
approval.  From  France,  you  say?  I  am  Victor 
Lamort;  all  the  towns-people  know  me.  If  I  can 
serve  you,  command  me." 

He  did  not  wait  their  reply,  or  names,  but  bowed 
like  a  courtier  and  walked  away,  touching  his  walk 
ing-stick  daintily  as  he  went,  and  moving  in  haste, 
as  though  too  long  delayed. 

"  There  is  a  man  I  feel  it  would  be  well  to  meet 
often,  despite  his  name  of  gloom,"  said  the  chevalier. 
"  He  walks  like  a  soldier ;  and  did  you  note  that  scar 
on  the  cheek?  A  battle-wound,  I  doubt  not." 

"  Soldiers  wear  not  golden  buckles  on  their  street- 
boots,"  returned  Constante;  "and  he  must  be  a 
most  valiant  warrior  to  earn  with  his  sword  such 
jewels  as  gleam  among  his  laces.  If  one  can  creep 
from  the  ranks  up  to  that  in  this  country,  I'll  enlist. 
But  I  fancy  I  would  grow  more  pride  with  my 
achievements  than  this  grandly  careless  Monsieur 
Lamort."  And  the  fun-loving  fellow  strutted  and 
minced  along  as  though  he  already  bore  jeweled 
decorations,  and  his  cane  was  flourished  as  though 
it  were  a  symbol  of  sovereignty. 

"  Modest?  Yes,  he  is  that;  but  it  seems  in  him 
a  stamp  of  true  greatness.  There  is  a  wondrous 


68  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

fascination  for  me  in  this  gray-bearded  dignitary. 
Did  you  note  his  musical  voice  ?  " 

"  There,  there,  Maurice  —  to  fall  in  love  once  in 
an  evening  is  enough  for  even  me;  but  you  lose 
your  heart  on  one  corner  to  a  gray  nun,  and  a  few 
paces  farther  yield  to  the  fascinations  of  a  scarred 
veteran.  For  my  part,  I  was  both  bewitched  and 
frightened  by  the  brown  dame  who  uses  knives  as 
playthings,  and  can  scatter  a  mob  as  though  she  were 
a  breath  of  pestilence.  The  black  witch,  I  heard 
some  call  her.  Faith  !  I  will  be .  sworn  she  is  one ; 
and  she'd  go  begging  for  a  master  many  a  day  ere 
I'd  consent  to  make  purchase  of  her." 

And  the  one  called  the  "  voudou  "  and  the  "  black 
witch "  moved  on  through  the  gloaming  and  the 
soft  breath  which  falls  over  the  earth  when  the  new 
moon  shines.  She  was  not  yet  old,  but  her  step 
dragged  heavily ;  no  one  looking  on  the  white  hair 
could  have  pictured  her  as  ever  having  been  that 
passionate  bright-haired  creature  who  had  lived  for 
a  season  as  royal  favorite  in  the  days  of  Gaston  le 
Noyens. 

A  judgment  had  come  upon  her  in  the  silence  of 
her  own  heart.  Untrained  savage  though  she  was, 
the  memory  of  poor  dead  Mistress  Felice,  and  more, 
the  lover  of  Felice  —  those  two  ghosts  of  the  past 
days  arose  before  her  in  the  shadows  or  in  the  sun 
shine  and  held  her  very  soul  in  their  grasp,  filling 
her  life  with  a  remorse  unexpressed  and  unexpress- 
ible. 

Thus  it  was  that  she  walked  ever  alone  in  the 
midst  of  the  other  blacks,  who  sang  and  who  danced, 


"  MASTER,  BUY   ME  !  "  69 

choosing  mates,  and  laughing  at  times  through  their 
toil ;  but  she  toiled  unsmiling. 

Once  only  had  she  been  heard  to  laugh  aloud  in 
the  home  of  her  new  master,  where  she  and  many 
others  of  the  Le  Noyens  plantation  had  been  taken 
in  payment  of  a  debt  to  Zanalta. 

And  that  one  day  of  laughter  had  been  one  to 
remember  in  the  household;  for  scornful  Pepito,  who 
was  half  white,  had  jeered  tauntingly  at  fine  high 
Lady  Felice,  who,  it  was  whispered,  had  mated  to  her 
shame  with  the  river  ruffian  exiled  to  the  mines  as 
an  assassin. 

And  then  had  Venda  laughed  —  laughed  as  one 
who  goes  to  a  festival  —  and  had  leaped  straight  at 
the  throat  of  frightened  Pepito,  and  clung  there 
until  they  cut  her  fingers  with  knives,  and  tore  her 
loose  only  when  two  men  lifted  her  bodily  and  bore 
her  thus  with  her  bleeding  fingers  into  the  presence 
of  her  new  master. 

"  Yes,  I  strangled  Pepito,  but  not  dead,  because 
they  were  fools  and  dragged  me  away.  She-devil, 
Pepito  ;  say  my  little  mistress  bad,  wicked  ;  she  say 
Master  Basil  bad,  assassin  —  that  is  why." 

And  Diego  Zanalta  looked  strangely  on  those 
bleeding  fingers,  so  the  men  who  guarded  her  said, 
and  looked  strangely  in  her  dark,  desperate  face, 
but  uttered  no  word  of  chiding. 

"  Did  you  think  I  would  kill  you  if  you  killed 
Pepito?"  he  asked.  "No,  Venda;  I  would  have 
you  whipped  many  times,  but  I  would  not  let  them 
kill  you.  Remember  that,  girl." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  men. 


70  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Tell  Pepito  she  will  go  to  the  rice  fields  if  I  ever 
again  hear  her  say  ill  words  of  a  white  lady.  Go 
now,  but  leave  Venda  here." 

And  they  did  so,  but  watched  curiously  for  her 
appearance.  Diego  Zanalta  with  his  cool  words  was 
feared  more  by  the  blacks  than  any  master  who 
would  storm  and  threaten,  and  many  had  prophesied 
that  the  new  woman  who  had  tried  to  kill  poor 
Pepito  would  surely  fare  ill  at  his  hands.  They 
never  thought  to  see  her  again  in  the  rooms  of  the 
house. 

But  she  walked  through  them  all  in  insolent  silence. 
They  could  read  neither  defeat  nor  triumph  in  her 
slumbrous  eyes,  but  the  silver  anklets  still  made 
music  when  she  walked,  her  bodice  and  petticoat 
were  of  linen,  the  scarf  she  wore  was  yet  a  thing  of 
silk  and  scarlet ;  so  no  outward  sign  of  glory  had 
departed  from  her. 

"  She  is  a  devil  voudou,  she  has  put  a  charm  on 
the  master,"  whispered  the  others,  though  they 
dared  not  say  aught  of  their  fancies  in  her  presence. 
Others  there  were  of  the  slaves  who  would  be  proud 
to  be  spoken  of  as  favorite,  but  she  was  different ; 
she  never  smiled,  and  she  made  them  afraid. 

Sometimes  they  fancied  she  made  the  master 
afraid  too,  for  as  the  days  went  by  they  noted  that 
he  never  asked  of  her  personal  service ;  that  she 
served  his  guests  but  never  the  master  himself  at 
table ;  that  she  never  knowingly  entered  a  room 
where  he  was  alone,  and  if  by  chance  she  did,  one  or 
the  other  would  immediately  depart.  Once  when  he 
was  ill  for  a  space,  the  physician  sent  cordials  and 


"  MASTER,  BUY    ME  !  "  71 

instructions  by  her  to  him.  His  oaths  were  emphatic 
as  he  bade  his  serving-man  never  to  open  the  door 
to  her,  and  all  through  one  delirious  night  he  mut 
tered,  "  Venda,  Venda,"  and  begged  that  she  would 
not  be  allowed  to  look  at  him  so. 

Yet  he  kept  her,  and  thus  began  the  whispers  of 
witchcraft ;  and  she  kept  their  fancies  alive  by  many 
strange  cures  performed  by  her.  If  any  living 
thing  was  likely  to  bleed  to  death,  Venda,  instead  of 
a  priest  or  physician,  was  called,  and  with  the  touch 
of  her  hands  and  a  few  muttered  words  the  blood 
would  cease  to  flow.  Let  the  friends  say  what  they 
would,  both  the  white  and  the  black  people  went  to 
her  for  charms,  and  bought  from  her  the  little  vials 
of  serpent's-oil  with  which  to  cure  strange  aches  in 
the  bones  after  the  fever  had  been  with  them. 
Even  the  Indian  slaves,  taken  of  old  from  the 
Natchez  tribe,  would  nod  approval  of  her  cures,  and 
call  her  the  silent  medicine-woman. 

But  for  all  the  help  she  gave,  there  were  many 
who  feared  to  pass  her  in  the  road  when  the  dusk 
fell,  and  as  her  silk-turbaned  hair  turned  so  swiftly 
to  the  color  of  age  they  called  her  devil-marked. 
And  that  evening  when  she  had  begged  to  be 
bought  by  a  new  master,  she  walked  as  usual,  silent, 
through  the  streets,  and  never  noted  the  awesome 
glances  cast  at  her  as  the  natives  muttered  of  the 
stiletto  yet  in  the  air  above  their  heads  —  "a  good 
stiletto,"  said  friends  of  the  owner;  "and  who  was 
to  pay  for  it  ?  " 

But  heavier  thoughts  than  that  of  the  stiletto 
weighed  her  brain.  She  scarce  heeded  when  her 


72  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

steps  brought  her  to  the  grounds  of  Zanalta,  and 
would  have  passed  the  gate  but  for  black  Gourfi, 
who  hailed  her. 

"  Do  you  walk  under  a  charm  that  you  pass  the 
master's  door  and  not  know  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Here 
have  they  waited,  the  Mistress  Ninon  and  old  Mis 
tress  Mercedes,  for  you  to  finish  their  decking  for 
the  fete,  and  you  strolling  the  streets  just  to  hear 
your  ankle-bands  tinkle  —  though  you  will  never 
take  a  mate  to  dance  to  their  music."  And  he  looked 
at  her  meaningly,  for  Gourfi,  who  could  speak  well 
the  language  of  the  whites,  was  in  much  a  steward 
to  his  master,  and  he  found  Venda  good  to  look 
upon,  seeing  no  reason  why  she  should  be  proud 
wTith  him  though  she  scorned  the  others. 

But  she  seemed  not  to  note  who  spoke,  only  asked, 
"  Have  they  departed  ?  " 

"That  they  have,  with  Sandro  and  Bula  to  carry 
the  train  of  old  mistress,  and  she  scolding  every  step 
to  the  chair  and  vowing  master  must  sell  you.  Si ! 
but  she  was  in  a  fine  rage  !  She'll  speak  to  master, 
be  sure  of  it.  Do  you  never  care,  Venda  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  care."  And  she  walked  into  the  house 
and  left  him  there  watching  her  sullenly. 

"  If  I  was  white  — if  I  had  gold,  Gourfi  should  be 
her  master.  There  is  none  like  her  among  our 
people.  She  looks  from  her  eyes  like  the  red  Indian 
slaves,  whose  race  they  say  did  once  own  these  lands  ; 
just  like  them  when  they  are  angry,  and  silent  — 
always  silent.  Voudou !  I  care  not  for  the  devil 
charms  if  she  would  but  look  on  me." 


AN   EVENING  WITH   MONSIEUR    LAMORT.          73 

CHAPTER   V. 

AN   EVENING   WITH     MONSIEUR   LAMORT. 

BLACK  GOURFI  was  entirely  correct  in  his  state 
ment  that  Senora  Mercedes  Sofie  Zanalta  was  in  a 
fine  rage,  for  so  she  was,  truly.  Even  the  magnifi 
cence  of  the  new  sedan-chair,  in  which  she  was 
borne,  did  nothing  to  temper  her  chagrin,  and 
against  the  "  black  faces,"  singly  and  in  a  body,  did 
she  exclaim. 

" Oh,  aunt,  be  patient!"  entreated  Ninon, wearily. 
"  Since  you  look  so  magnificent,  what  matters  it 
whose  hands  laced  your  bodice,  or  clasped  the 
plumes  in  your  hair?  I  knowT  they'll  be  much 
admired,  even  by  the  ladies.  And  as  for  Monsieur 
Lamort  —  well,  he  is  a  bachelor,  but  I  dare  hope  no 
longer  than  his  eyes  rest  on  you.  Come,  now  ;  think 
no  longer  of  a  careless  slave,  but  please  your  mind 
with  prospects  of  the  fete  we  are  about  to  enjoy. 
Few  will  gather  there  wearing  so  fine  a  gown,  I 
promise  you." 

"  Si !  the  costume  is  good  enough  ;  the  catching  of 
the  folds  with  roses  is  a  trick  of  Madrid  days  —  the 
saints  be  blest  for  the  memory  of  them  !  —  and  the 
veil  I  decided  to  wear  was  a  fancy  of  my  illustrious 
husband  —  St.  Jago  care  for  his  soul !  He  ever  liked 
me  to  revive  our  day  of  wedding  by  dressing  as  a 
bride  —  the  good  soul  has  seen  but  the  brides  of  par 
adise  these  thirty  years  —  but  that  devil,  Venda ! 
Think  you  Anite  arranged  the  wig  with  the  clever 
ness  of  that  cursed  voudou?  A  pretty  pass,  a 


74  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

very  pretty  pass,  when  slaves  come  and  go  as  they 
like,  and  the  word  of  a  mistress  weighs  for  nothing !  " 

"But  aunt  —  " 

"Seek  not  to  dissuade  me  from  my  righteous 
wrath.  I  tell  you  the  girl  shall  be  sold  or  sent  to 
the  fields  ere  another  blessed  day  of  God  calls  us  to 
the  chapel.  There  are  other  lands  than  this  Louisi 
ana,  and  if  Diego  Zanalta  were  ten  times  the  brother 
of  my  husband,  I  take  charge  of  his  house  no  longer 
unless  that  insolent  one  is  banished  to  the  fields." 

"  Insolent,  Venda  insolent !  Has  she  ever  given 
saucy  speech  to  you  ? " 

"  Can  one  only  be  insolent  by  words?"  demanded 
the  irate  lady;  "her  very  silence  is  an  insolence. 
Ah,  the  quiet  devil !  " 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  residence  of 
Lamort,  and  the  blaze  of  many-colored  lights  and 
the  low-toned  swing  of  the  music  made  it  a  place 
easily  marked  for  enjoyment ;  and  from  the  arches 
of  the  portico  several  gentlemen,  among  them  their 
host,  came  forward  to  give  welcome  to  the  fairest 
dame,  and  the  most  exacting,  that  the  town  held. 

Don  Diego  approached  at  the  same  moment  from 
another  direction,  but,  wise  man  that  he  was,  dis 
cerned  the  frown  on  the  brow  of  his  brother's 
respected  relict,  and  held  aloof  until  the  compli 
ments  of  gallants  had  softened  her  thoughts  toward 
mankind  in  general. 

And  compliments  were  seldom  lacking  for  Senora 
Mercedes,  for  was  she  not  the  outer  gate  to  be  capt 
ured  ere  a  courtier  gained  the  inner  tower  where 
Madame  Ninon  dwelt? 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  75 

She  even  forgot  for  a  space  that  provoking  wench 
Venda,  as  she  was  led  into  the  mansion  by  that  most 
engaging  Monsieur  Lamort,  and  noticed  with  a 
hearty  satisfaction  that  all  female  eyes  within  range 
were  turned  wonderingly  on  the  rose-draped  robe, 
and  on  the  girlish  tissue  of  white  falling  from  the 
bewigged  head. 

But  the  name  of  Zanalta  was  powerful  enough  to 
make  amends  for  any  eccentricity  by  its  bearers ; 
and  if  one  could  not  do  as  he  liked  in  this  new  land, 
why  come  ?  The  scene  was  a  thing  semi-oriental  in 
its  character;  the  dress  —  French  or  Spanish  — of 
the  ladies,  a  few  in  the  latest  court  robes,  such  as  were 
worn  by  Marie  Antoinette  and  her  maids  at  Ver 
sailles,  but  more,  many  more,  of  an  older  date ;  but 
the  unerring  taste  of  the  Frenchwomen  made  those 
gowns  things  of  grace,  and  buckles  of  diamonds  fast 
ened  many  a  shoe  over  hosiery  repaired  so  often 
one  could  scarce  find  enough  of  the  original  material 
to  catch  a  needle-point  in.  Then  there  were  half- 
Moorish  dresses  of  old  Spain  in  rustling  brocades 
and  flounced  laces.  The  gentlemen  in  the  gorgeous 
dress  of  Louis  XV.  or  the  military  dress  of  Spain ; 
and  back  of  those  gracious  ladies  and  gay  gallants 
glided  the  slaves  in  gala-dress,  bare-armed,  bare- 
throated,  wearing  sandals  lashed  to  their  feet  with 
crimson  bands,  and  necklets  of  bone  and  bright  cop 
per  above  their  vestments  of  crimson  and  pale  yel 
low.  Assuredly  Monsieur  Lamort  understood  how 
to  make  even  those  black  toilers  picturesque. 
He  had  brought  fanciful  ideas  of  such  things  from 
abroad,  learnt  somewhere  in  those  south  seas  of  which 


76  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

he  spoke  at  times,  and  from  which  he  had  brought 
great  white  pearls  and  glimmering  jewels,  toward 
which  ladies  looked  languishingly. 

And  to-night  he  had  surpassed  even  himself  in 
his  effort  to  entertain  the  families  of  Orleans  called 
noble;  and  Senora  Mercedes  was  not  the  only  one 
who  had  gathered  up  her  dearest  bravery  for  his 
eye  —  a  good  clear  eye,  that  gleamed  with  rare 
pleasure  that  night,  and  swept  over  the  proud  assem 
blage  with  a  glance  which  seemed  to  divine  every 
needed  attention  for  a  guest. 

"I  confess.  Monsieur  Lamort,"  said  Diego  Zan- 
alta,  as  the  wine  of  Oporto  was  served  by  deft- 
handed  slaves—"  I  confess  I  tremble  at  the  thought 
of  the  desert  we  would  yet  be  existing  in  here  if 
that  lucky  fight  in  the  Floridas  had  not  recom 
mended  us  to  your  knowledge  three  years  ago.  We 
colonists  were  fast  selling  ourselves  as  slaves  to 
commerce  and  financial  advancement,  forgetting  in 
our  rush  that  the  fine  air  of  salons,  after  all,  does 
more  to  enliven  the  mind  and  brighten  our  faculties 
than  the  weighing  of  gold  in  the  market-places. 
Ah,  monsieur,  your  spirit  of  fine  France  has  re 
minded  us  that  our  homes  may  be  made  palaces 
here,  and  cure  us  of  our  grieving  for  courts  across 
the  water.  Ladies,  gentlemen,  I  salute  you.  To 
the  health  of  our  host ! " 

The  eyes  of  their  host  twinkled  with  a  humor  sar 
donic  as  he  glanced  over  the  gracious  company 
drinking  to  his  health  there  in  that  Orleans,  where 
the  laws  of  caste  were  strong  as.  in  any  court  of 
Europe.  His  bow  and  smiles  confessed  himself 


AN   EVENING   WITH   MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  77 

flattered  by  their  distinguished  homage,  but  his 
veiled  eyes  held  sentiments  unuttered  by  his  lips. 

"  By  my  faith,  sirs,"  he  returned,  "  you  are  remind 
ing  me,  by  your  mention  of  Florida,  that  we  should 
repeat  many  an  Ave  Maria  on  this  day,  in  token  that 
we  are  so  much  better  off  than  those  in  the  swamps, 
where  the  Seminole  warriors  did  battle  most  wick 
edly.  Even  now  I  can  scarce  see  the  black  mud  of 
this  delta  without  seeming  also  to  hear  the  singing 
of  arrows  and  the  wild  yells  of  those  savage  men. 
Yes,  indeed,  my  friends,  we  are  better  here  than  we 
were  there." 

"Yet  you  seemed  equally  at  home  in  their  war 
fare,"  remarked  a  Monsieur  Villeneuve,  whose 
youthful  admiration  for  the  scarred  veteran  was 
apparent  in  his  eyes.  "  That,  my  first  battle,  is  a 
memorable  thing  to  me,  especially  as  I  shall  always 
carry  with  me  the  vision  of  your  face  as  I  saw  it 
first.  It  seems  to  me  yet  that  you  were  really 
laughing  as  you  came  to  our  relief  across  the  sands, 
and  gave  us  and  the  savages  an  idea  that  you  had 
an  army  at  your  heels ;  few  of  us  would  have  seen 
Orleans  Island  again  but  for  you  and  your  crew." 

"And  I  might  never  have  become  one  of  your 
citizens  but  for  the  chance  that  sent  my  little  vessel 
to  the  shore  there  that  day.  So  you  see  it  was  I  to 
whom  the  saints  were  kind.  I  was  a  stranger  to  your 
land,  but  you  did  not  long  allow  me  to  remain  so  ; 
and  now  —  well,  the  building  up  of  a  grand  commer 
cial  center  here  has  become  a  pet  fancy  of  mine,  and 
I  am  proud  to  count  myself  as  one  of  you.  But  I  ask 
pardon  of  the  ladies  for  speaking  of  commerce  ;  we 


78  A    FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

well  know  they  dislike  the  term,  and  love  only  the 
things  it  brings  to  us.  Even  you,  Madame  Villette, 
you  own  a  great  warehouse ;  but  have  you  not  made 
us  all  wretched  by  stating  that  you  will  never  give 
your  hand  to  a  man  who  buys  or  sells  in  the  market 
places?" 

"  Then  am  I  likely  to  walk  alone  forever  on  this 
island,"  laughed  Ninon,  "  for  the  gallants  of  Orleans 
are  all  awake  to  the  advantages  of  bargains."  And 
the  latter  part  of  her  speech  was  discreetly  mur 
mured,  and  only  Monsieur  Lamort  caught  its  mean 
ing  or  understood  the  quizzical  glance  she  gave 
him  ;  and  more  than  one  of  those  ambitious  gallants 
would  have  given  their  youth  for  the  smile  of  com 
prehension  she  exchanged  with  the  scarred  veteran. 
Assuredly,  Madame  Villette  and  Monsieur  Lamort 
appeared  as  good  comrades. 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  a  message  to  deliver  here  to-night," 
she  cried,  suddenly;  "I  had  well-nigh  forgotten  it, 
but' it  has  concern  with  other  strangers  from  France 
who  arrived  to-day,  on  the  anniversary  of  your  meet 
ing  with  Orleans  men,  monsieur.  And,  Brother 
Diego,  I  did  entertain  the  commandant  of  the  French 
ship  since  I  saw  you.  He  came  to  ask  leave  of  you 
to  present  two  strangers  who  sought  names,  or 
a  name,  no  longer  found  in  our  town.  The  com 
mandant  seems  a  good  soul,  and  was  anxious  to 
serve  the  strangers,  whom  he  terms  illustrious." 

"  And  their  names,  Ninon  ?  " 

11  Ah  !  forgotten  already  by  me,  except  that  one  is  a 
Chevalier  something  or  other,  and  the  second  has 
Constante  for  a  part  of  the  name.  Beyond  that  I 
have  forgotten." 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  79 

"  You  might  as  well  have  forgotten  in  the  begin 
ning,"  laughed  her  half-brother,  "  for  we  are  little 
the  wiser.  *  Chevalier,'  of  course,  tells  us  somewhat. 
Captain  Nirosse  ?  Yes,  his  word  is  a  good  pledge. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  serve  his  passengers." 

"  Can  you  remember,  madame,  if  the  men  were 
young?"  queried  their  host;  and  Madame  Ninon 
raised  her  hands  in  pretty  dismay. 

"  Oh,  monsieur !  when  I  have  not  even  seen  their 
faces.  The  one  thing  I  did  hear  of  them  —  their 
names  —  I  have  forgotten.  So  why  ask  of  so  simple 
a  person  the  impossible?" 

"  Be  not  distressed,  madame ;  I  am  only  your  host 
this  evening,  not  alcalde,  so  your  evidence  is 
not  an  imperative  necessity  to  the  assembly.  But 
my  question  was  not  quite  idle,  either.  This  even 
ing  at  sunset  I  met  on  the  street  Conde  two  stran 
gers  from  France,  most  amiable  in  appearance,  and 
the  thought  came  to  me  that  they  may  be  the  ones 
of  whom  you  speak.  Would  I  had  known  earlier 
they  were  recommended  to  your  interest,  Don  Diego ; 
it  would  have  been  pleasure  to  have  asked  them 
here  this  evening.  One's  first  day  in  a  strange  land 
is  so  often  a  lonely  one." 

"  It  is  like  you  to  remember  that  on  this  anni 
versary,"  said  one  fair  woman  of  France  whose  eyes 
looked  kindly  on  him,  eyes  aged  through  tears 
instead  of  years—  a  woman  of  an  exiled  family,  and 
whose  two  sons  slept  under  myrtles  there  in  the 
sands  of  Orleans.  The  suns  and  the  breath  of  the 
swamps  are  often  so  hard  on  the  new-comers.  And 
those  two  strangers? 


80  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Monsieur  Latnort  looked  across  at  her,  and,  coming- 
nearer,  kissed  her  hand. 

"  Madame  Vraumont,  you  help  me  to  remember 
something  more,  merely  that  it  may  not  yet  be  too 
kite  to  ask  the  presence  of  those  gentlemen.  What 
say  you,  Don  Zanalta?  Would  it  please  you,  or 
think  you  a  messenger  could  find  them  —  the  '  cheva 
lier'  and  'Constante  '  —  address,  nowhere?" 

"To  be  sure,  and  the  thought  is  a  kind  one. 
Through  Captain  Nirosse  they  can  be  found  in  less 
than  the  half  of  an  hour ;  and,  if  they  are  disposed, 
we  can  make  their  first  evening  a  merry  one  —  if 
indeed  they  prove  not  to  be  gray-heads  who  have 
forsworn  merriment." 

"  For  my  part,  I  fear  much  that  is  just  what  you 
will  find,"  sighed  Madame  Villette. 

11  Well,  whether  gray  or  golden,  we  will  send  the 
message.  Don  Zanalta,  will  you  word  it?"  And 
Monsieur  Lamort  signaled  a  slave,  who  stepped 
forward. 

"Sebastian,  you  know  where  the  sailor  captains 
are  to  be  found  when  ashore?" 

"  Yes,  master,  where  many  are ;  and  one  can 
always  tell  where  another  may  be." 

"  Good  !  Go  there  ;  ask  for  Captain  Nirosse  of  the 
French  ship  Celestine,  just  arrived  in  the  harbor. 
Give  to  him  the  letter,  and  conduct  here  the  gentle 
men  he  may  command  you  to.  Take  carriage,  and 
be  swift." 

"Yes,  master." 

Don  Zanalta  came  forward  with  the  note  he  had 
written  and  passed  it  to  his  host  for  approval. 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  81 

"Very  good.  Surely,  if  they  are  disposed  to  be 
on  good  terms  with  Orleans,  they  can  not  resist  the 
courtesy  of  your  words ;  and  as  there  is  yet  room 
for  another  name,  I  shall  add  that  of  Victor 
Lamort." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  monsieur.  You  are  very  gracious." 

"  Not  at  all.  Your  guests  are  welcome  under  my 
roof,  and  as  this  is  the  anniversary  of  my  own  meet 
ing  with  the  gentlemen  here,  why  not  celebrate  it 
more  fully  by  gathering  in  other  new-comers  to 
your  shores  ?  And,  by  the  way,  Zanalta,  speaking  of 
the  gentlemen  whom  we  hope  Sebastian  will  bring- 
back  ;  if  they  are  the  ones  I  met  this  evening  I 
have  special  cause  to  remember  the  occasion,  because 
of  some  one  who  was  there,  and  who  belongs  to 
you." 

"  Ah  !  an  adventure  ;  pray  tell  us  !  " 

"  Only  a  quarrel  for  a  knife  at  the  door  of  a  wine 
shop.  Two  men  struggled,  yet  their  comrades  were 
so  close  no  peacemaker  could  approach.  I  was 
about  to  make  an  attempt  to  push  through  and  sep 
arate  them  —  one  looked  a  mere  boy —  when  a  slave 
of  yours  bade  me  wait,  stepped  before  me,  reached 
them  as  though  she  had  been  a  spirit,  and  flung  the 
knife  they  fought  for  high  in  the  air  before  the  com 
batants  realized  who  had  secured  it.  A  most  strange 
woman  for  a  black,  but  she  tried  to  do  me  a  service 
there.  I  even  feel  tempted  to  offer  you  fair  returns 
for  her  if  at  any  time  you  should  choose  to  part  with 
her.  I  asked  her  name.  She  said  Venda." 

"  Ah  !  that  black  witch  !  "  broke  in  Senora 
Mercedes,  who  drew  near  and  heard  the  last  of  his 

6 


82  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE, 

words  ;  "  well  might  she  serve  you,  who  art  a  soldier, 
and  a  brave  commander  of  your  own  sea-vessel,  but 
to  a  lady  she  is  very  wearing-  with  her  silence  and 
her  tricks  of  witchery  with  which  she  affrights  the 
other  slaves.  Diego,  I  tell  you  plainly  none  other 
will  ever  bid  for  her,  and  since  you  yourself  love  her 
but  little  —  though  you  never  will  chide  her  —  I  say, 
take  Monsieur  Lamort  at  his  word." 

Don  Zanalta  sent  one  angered  glance  at  her,  but 
his  smile  came  quickly  again. 

"Your  suggestion  has  at  least  one  earnest  advo 
cate  in  my  own  household,"  he  said,  carelessly,  to 
Monsieur  Lamort,  "but  I  fancy  the  recommenda 
tion  my  sister-in-law  gives  with  it  will  not 
strengthen  your  intent  to  purchase." 

"  On  the  contrary,  those  voudous,  as  they  are 
called,  are  an  interesting  study  to  me  ;  and  is  she 
one  ?  I  would  find  it  easy  to  believe,  for  the  knife 
she  threw  in  the  air  was  not  to  be  seen  again." 

"  Oh,  we  have  heard  many  tales  of  her,"  agreed 
one  of  the  ladies.  "  She  is  a  strange  creature,  but  she 
does  no  ill." 

"  Except  to  my  aunt's  nerves,"  smiled  Madame 
Villette.  "  She  is  a  most  capable  woman,  but  silent 
and  dreamy  while  the  other  blacks  sing  songs  and 
dance  dances.  I  have  no  dislike  for  her,  though  I 
certainly  would  be  glad  if  she  was  taken  away,  sim 
ply  because  of  the  antipathy  my  aunt  feels  for  her." 

Zanalta  heard  the  words,  and  while  the  others 
chattered  of  Venda  and  her  strange  ways,  he  was 
thinking-  quickly : 

"  Well,  why  not  ?    The  money  would  come  handy. 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  83 

Those  games  with  that  infernal  Rochelle  have  made 
a  difference  with  me.  And,  after  all  —  eighteen 
years  —  eighteen  years  I  have  kept  her  and  feared 
her;  yes,  curse  her!  that's  the  word,  feared  her. 
And  all  for  what  ?  She  dare  not  speak  ;  reason  tells 
me  that,  Then  why  hesitate  ?  By  the  saints  !  my 
mind  is  settled  on  it;  she  shall  go." 

It  seemed  as  though  Monsieur  Lamort  as  well  as 
Venda  was  gifted  with  occult  powers,  for  just  at  the 
finish  of  Zanalta's  reasoning  he  came  forward  smil 
ing,  as  though  he  knew  the  result. 

"Well,  Don  Zanalta,  is  the  voudou  to  weave  her 
spells  in  my  house  instead  of  yours?"  he  asked, 
nonchalantly,  "  If  so,  name  the  amount,  and  I'll 
free  Senora  Zanalta  from  her  bctc  noire" 

"  Yes  "-  -  and  Don  Diego  spoke  with  haste  of  one 
who  was  afraid  he  might  repent  —  "yes;  it  is  a 
strange  sale  and  conducted  quickly,  I  never  meant 
to  sell  her,  though  I  have  had  many  a  war  in  the 
house  because  of  her.  But  she  may  amuse  you,  She 
is  strange  —  some  say  mad  —  so  I  give  you  warning ; 
but  she  will  work  well,  Yes,  she  can  be  very  useful, 
if  she  chooses,  and  she  is  yours  at  your  word." 

Victor  Lamort  bowed  to  the  agreement.  "  I  will 
have  an  article  drawn  up  at  any  time,  to-night  as 
well  as  another.  I  fancy  her  looks.  She  will  make 
a  strange  picture  in  the  house.  I  never  saw  so 
young  a  negress  with  white  hair." 

"  It  is  because  of  that  the  other  slaves  call  her 
devil-marked.  But,  pardon  me,  is  that  not  the  return 
of  your  carriage  ? " 

For   wheels   had  just  rolled  over  the  shell-lined 


84  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

drive,  and  Zanalta  had  scarcely  spoken  when  Sebas- 
tien  announced,  "  Master  Chevalier  Delogne,  Master 
Constante  Raynel,"  and  Victor  Lamort  went  forward 
to  greet  the  strangers. 

"  It  is  as  I  fancied  —  you  do  not  come  to  my  house 
as  strangers,  gentlemen,  for  have  we  not  met  earlier 
this  evening  ?  And  here  is  Don  Zanalta.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  me  that  you  meet  under  my  roof." 
And  Maurice  Delogne  found  himself  looking  again 
into  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  attracted  him  so 
strongly  but  a  short  time  before,  and  Constante 
drew  a  long  breath  of  pure  delight  at  the  semi- 
barbaric  surroundings. 

"Ah,  messieurs,  for  a  year  and  a  day  am  I  your 
bond-slave  in  payment  for  this  evening's  glimpse  of 
paradise.  See !  I  bend  my  neck  for  the  yoke  —  a 
year  and  a  day  !  " 

Don  Zanalta  liked  more  thoroughly  the  light  chat 
ter  of  the  artist  than  the  more  level-eyed  youth,  who 
spoke  graciously  but  with  less  extravagance. 

"  He  is  but  a  day  in  your  land,"  smiled  Delogne, 
warningly ;  "  and  lest  you,  not  knowing,  take  him  at 
his  word,  let  me  confess  that  he  is  vassal  to  so 
many  things  of  impulse  that  I  should  fear  to  vouch 
for  his  faithfulness  to  one." 

"  Is  not  my  name  Constante?  " 

"  Would  it  have  been  had  they  waited  a  few  years 
for  your  christening  ?  But  aside  from  this  badinage, 
gentlemen,  pray  believe  that  we  feel  deeply  the 
kindness  you  have  been  pleased  to  show  us.  To 
strangers  in  a  strange  land,  a  hand  that  welcomes 
means  so  much." 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  85 

"  We  have  all  learned  that  lesson  on  these  shores, 
Monsieur  Chevalier,"  assented  Lamort.  "  So  few  of 
us  were  born  here  that  we  have  all  been  strangers 
in  the  land  on  some  day  of  our  lives.  We  but  give 
to  you  from  Orleans  that  which  Orleans  has  granted 
to  us,  and  that  which  no  doubt  you  yourself  will 
give  in  the  future  to  a  later  comer.  But  come,  I 
would  like  to  have  you  meet  others  of  my  guests, 
and  you  see  they  have  followed  the  music  and  left 
my  palm-room." 

Constante  was  at  the  same  moment  exchanging 
bows  with  Villeneuve,  and" a  little  later,  when  these 
two  were  left  alone  for  a  space,  they  proceeded, 
after  the  fashion  of  youth,  to  become  at  once  well 
acquainted. 

"  My  faith,  monsieur,  do  you  all  live  like  princes 
in  this  romantic  land  of  exile?  Is  our  host  the 
reigning  sovereign  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  though  perhaps  an  heir  apparent  —  who 
knows  ?  He  is,  they  say,  a  power  beside  the  throne 
here,  if  not  behind  it ;  at  least  one  thought  well  of, 
and  deserving  of  it  all.  There  was  a  time  in  this 
colony  when  people  of  France  were  not  in  high 
favor ;  but  it  is  said  that  Victor  Lamort  has  swept 
away  every  lingering  prejudice  in  the  space  of 
three  years.  To  be  of  the  mother  church  and  of 
sufficient  age  and  intelligence  are  all  the  requisites 
to  position  here  now.  French  and  Spanish  alike  con 
trol  the  town  and  guard  against  their  common 
enemy,  the  English." 

"  Ah !  then  the  spirit  of  war  is  abroad  here  as 
well  as  on  the  shores  of  Europe  ?  " 


86  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

"Well  — yes  — but  whispers,  whispers  only.  The 
English  smugglers  are  causing  much  trouble  slip, 
ping  into  our  ports  on  every  thin-veiled  excuse. 
You  see  our  civilized  neighbors  cause  us  more 
trouble  than  the  savage  people." 

Constante's  eyes  were  busy  noting  the  strange 
feathery  foliage  of  palms,  and  catching  now  and 
then  glimpses  of  women's  dresses  through  the 
green, 

"  By  my  own  vision  of  things  you  seem  to  have  few 
troubles  here  beyond  finding  the  days  long  enough 
for  your  pleasures,  and  you  certainly  have  nymphs 
of  the  tropics  to  assist  you.  There  goes  a  face  that 
is  enchanting.  See  —  the  one  looking  this  way, 
moving  there  beside  the  lady  with  the  —  hum ! 
ahem  !  —  the  bridal-veil  over  her  tresses." 

Villeneuve  smiled  at  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
stranger,  a  little  pleased  to  see  that  Orleans  had 
beauty  remarkable  even  compared  with  beauty  of 
the  French  court. 

"  Ah,  there  is  golden  treasure  as  well  as  bright 
eyes  in  that  group,  Monsieur  Raynel.  It  is  Madame 
Villette,  the  wealthiest  widow  in  the  province  — 
slaves  of  her  own  by  the  hundred,  and  vessels  of 
her  own  on  the  waters.  The  other  is  her  relative, 
Senora  Mercedes  Zanalta.  A  good  old  Spanish 
name  is  hers  ;  but,  alas  !  she  has  no  gold  to  gild  it." 

"  Alas  !  "  echoed  Constante,  unconsciously ;  for  in 
his  own  mind  he  knew  at  once  it  was  the  uncomely 
old  woman  who  was  the  wealthy  widow,  and  it  was 
the  childish-faced  sylph  who  had  only  the  ancient 
lineage  —  did  not  the  fates  always  divide  favors  in 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  87 

just  that  miserable  way?     And  yet  how  charming 
was  that  bearer  of  the  ungilded  lineage ! 

And  at  the  first  opportunity  he  did  a  thing  very 
remarkable  for  Constante.  He  did  not  seek  presen 
tation,  but  slipped  alone  where  the  palms  were  thiek, 
and  where  he  could  see  all  the  room,  and  couples 
saluting  each  other  in  stateliest  fashion,  with  many 
a  gracious  curve  of  body  and  many  an  arch  erecting 
of  proud  head.  And  his  eyes  would  wander  ever  to 
the  dainty  grace  of  that  figure  in  the  rose-color 
and  silver  tissue,  and  from  her  white  unjeweled 
throat  he  would  glance  toward  the  more  matured 
charms  of  Donna  Mercedes,  and  note  the  gemmed 
buckles  glinting  as  she  moved. 

And  then  h?  would  sigh  like  a  furnace,  and  assure 
himself  for  the  hundredth  time  that  he  had  met 
fate  ;  and  that  it  was  very  hard,  in  the  face  of  his  late 
decision  to  wed  wealth,  that  he  should  meet  on 
the  first  threshold  he  crossed  a  being  to  tempt  him 
from  every  wise  decision  he  had  ever  made.  The 
temptation  of  St.  Anthony  —  bah  !  it  was  trifling,  he 
knew,  compared  with  his  own. 

So  he  assured  himself.  He  was  in  his  imagina 
tion  striving  to  renounce  the  one  and  offer  his 
hand  to  the  other,  yet  had  never  spoken  to  either  of 
them  in  his  life  ! 

Oh,  love!  love!  that  spirit  binding  us  with  a 
chain  of  glances  from  bright  eyes,  and  bringing  to 
us  instincts  of  knowledge  deeper  than  all  the  philos- 
ophies.  A  wild  folly  when  it  is  another  man  the 
madness  touches,  but  a  soul's  tragedy  when  it 
touches  ourselves. 


88  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

How  many  a  heart  lives  more  fully  in  visions  of 
what  might  be  than  in  the  life  men  call  the  real ! 

vSo  if  jovial  Constante  chose  for  a  space  to  let  his 
thoughts  wander  in  the  strange  paths  of  imagina 
tion  —  well,  he  was  not  the  first  beggar  to  claim 
riches  from  such  a  source.  To  be  sure,  he  would 
marry  the  widow,  despite  his  sighs  for  that  lovely 
kinswoman,  for  Monsieur  Raynel  was  a  gentleman 
of  thrifty  instincts.  Yet,  just  for  the  present,  ere  he 
had  addressed  either,  how  comforting  to  fancy  that 
the  beauty  in  rose-color  owned  the  slaves  and  the 
ships,  and  that  he,  Constante,  was  commander  of  all ! 

And  a  sigh,  earnest  as  any  Romeo's,  touched  the 
palms  because  of  the  sweetness  within  vision,  but 
toward  which  he  must  never  reach. 

And  he  courageously  turned  his  eyes  to  the  more 
matured  dame  of  the  golden  buckles.  There,  he 
knew,  was  the  path  for  him.  Had  not  he  asked  for 
that  ?  Well,  when  the  saints  are  kind  is  it  not  wise 
to  accept  what  they  send  ?  Assuredly. 

Constante  had  devoted  this  five  minutes  of  his  life 
to  a  bit  of  serious  contemplation,  and  arose  from  it 
with  the  grim  design  of  being  presented  to  that 
widow  within  the  earliest  time  possible,  and  then  — 
well,  trust  to  Dame  Fortune  and  youth's  audacity. 

Maurice,  who  met  him  a  few  moments  later, 
looked  at  him  wonderingly.  It  was  a  strange  thing 
for  Constante  to  creep  thus  modestly  from  sight, 
especially  if  there  were  ladies  to  pay  court  to. 

"  What !  you,  Constante  Raynel,  alone  there  in 
the  garden  when  all  this  feast  of  beauty  is  spread 
before  your  eyes?  Why,  sir;  does  it  mean  that 


AN    EVENING    WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  89 

you  have  closed  your  book  of  French  folly,  and  com 
mence  here  to  peruse  the  leaves  of  the  New  World's 
wisdom?  You  are  certainly  courageous  to  com 
mence  a  reform  in  the  midst  of  such  temptations. 
Did  you  note  the  ladies  I  spoke  to  just  now?  They 
are  most  gracious,  and  Madame  Villette  has  com 
missioned  me  to  present  you." 

''Madame  Villette?"  And  Raynel  arose  with  a 
resigned  air  and  went  to  meet  his  fate. 

He  met  first  the  entrancing  eyes  of  Ninon. 
Heavens!  she  was  looking  at  him  —  at  him  out  of 
all  the  room,  and  looking  at  him  exactly  as  if  there 
was  not  another  man  within  a  mile. 

"  She  is  adorable,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  and 
immediately  added,  "  Don't  be  a  fool,  Raynel." 

Then  he  heard  the  names  Senora  Zanalta,  Madame 
Villette,  and  he  was  bowing  to  two  ladies,  and  try 
ing,  for  his  own  soul's  sake,  to  avoid  the  glances 
of  the  prettiest,  and  offered  his  arm  to  the  veil- 
bedecked  lady  while  he  tried  vainly  to  comfort  his 
heart  by  gazing  on  those  diamond  buckles. 

But  if  you  are  young,  need  I  tell  how  lightly  dia 
monds  weigh  when  one  longs  instead  for  the  touch 
of  a  loved  hand.  And  if  you  are  old  — well,  the  old 
have  memories. 

So  Constante,  on  his  newly  adopted  path  of  wis 
dom,  walked  on  thorns,  and  never  came  so  near  to 
hating  Maurice  as  when  that  gallant  led  the  one 
adorable  into  the  place  of  the  feast  and  sat  himself 
at  her  side,  wickedly  thoughtless  as  to  his  comrade 
and  the  dowager. 

But  Ninon  was  not  so  careless.     Her  eyes  were 


90  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

big  with  wonder  as  she  noted  the  devout  attentions 
won  by  her  kinswoman  from  that  handsome  young 
stranger — -for  that  he  was  handsome  was  a  thing 
quickly  decided  by  her.  She  even  felt  that  her  eyes 
must  have  betrayed  to  him  her  opinion  when  their 
glances  met,  and  her  face  grew  warm  at  the  thought, 
for  had  he  not  turned  deliberately  from  her  and 
given  his  attention  to  Donna  Mercedes?  Did  he 
mean,  then,  to  ignore  the  beauties  of  Orleans,  and 
show  his  indifference  by  paying  court  to  one  of  the 
most  antique  ? 

Ninon's  silvered  slipper  tapped  the  floor  to  em 
phasize  her  own  thoughts.  Ah !  how  she  would 
like  to  teach  that  Monsieur  Indifference  one  lesson ! 
Just  to  bring  that  handsome  head  to  her  feet  for 
once  —  one  little  minute.  Of  course  she  would 
laugh  at  him  then,  and  dismiss  him,  Yes,  she  would 
teach  him  not  to  slight  a  lady  who  had  so  kindly 
suggested  that  he  be  presented.  Ah,  the  ingrate ! 
But  how  handsome  he  was,  and  what  bright  things 
he  was  saying  to  Senora  Mercedes  and  Monsieur 
Villeneuve. 

And  Madame  Ninon  Villette  forgot  the  Chevalier 
Delogne  who  was  beside  her,  and  strained  her  ears 
to  hear  the  words  of  the  ingrate  who  would  not  look 
at  her. 

Alas  !  Ninon  ;  all  sweethearts  pray  for  her ! 

But  Maurice  did  not  feel  especially  neglected,  even 
though  the  lovely  widow  did  note  Constante's  words 
more  than  his  own,  for  Monsieur  Lamort  was  near 
enough  for  speech,  and  the  younger  man  listened  to 
his  words  with  great  interest. 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  91 

Some  one  was  speaking  of  a  ghostly  craft  seen  by 
black  sailors  on  the  river  but  a  short  time  before  —  a 
phantom  of  the  starlight,  over  which  the  masters 
were  laughing. 

"  Those  are  bad  subjects  to  humor  the  blacks  in," 
decided  Monsieur  Lamort;  "they  are  so  credulous, 
and  one  will  frighten  another,  so  that  in  a  short 
space  a  whole  plantation  will  be  panic-stricken.  I 
strive  to  reason  with  them  in  such  matters,  and  if 
that  fails  I  try  ridicule.  I  find  they  do  not  like  to 
be  laughed  at." 

"  Then  you  think,  of  course,  the  return  of  the  dead 
is  a  thing  ridiculous  ?"  asked  Don  Zanalta,  with  a 
degree  of  earnestness  noticeable  after  the  careless 
chatter. 

"  I  ? "  queried  Monsieur  Lamort.  "  Well,  there  is 
much  to  consider  in  that  question.  And  did  not  the 
Son  of  Mary  come  back  to  be  seen  of  man  after  the 
tomb  was  sealed  ?  Yet  the  blacks  in  their  ignorance 
should  not  be  given  that  knowledge ;  their  minds 
are  too  childish  to  grasp  the  reasons  for  it." 

"  But  I  mean  men  of  to-day,  not  of  the  past," 
persisted  Zanalta.  "  Suppose  a  man  vows  to  him 
self  that  he  will  return,  and  bends  all  his  thoughts 
to  that  end,  think  you  he  could  win  the  power?  " 

"  To  make  such  a  vow  a  person  must  have  an  all- 
absorbing  purpose,  at  least  so  it  seems  to  me  ;  and 
whether  or  not  he  could  gain  tha,t  power  would,  I 
think,  depend  on  whether  or  not  that  purpose  was  a 
thing  just  in  the  eyes  of  God." 

Zanalta  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  said, 


92  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

carelessly,  "  Well,  I  have  heard  sailors  and  soldiers 
tell  strange  stories  of  those  who  return." 

"And  I  too,"  asserted  his  host;  "but  I  fancy  the 
ghost  most  men  see  is  conscience.  And  if  a  shadow 
in  the  moonlight  takes  the  form  of  a  person  who 
once  lived,  it  is  sure  not  to  be  a  stranger,  but  one 
whom  we  have  sometime  wronged." 

The  wine-glass  slipped  from  the  fingers  of 
Zanalta  and  broke  on  the  white  floor.  The  wine 
splashed  and  lay  like  a  thin  rivulet  of  blood  at  his 
feet. 

"  I  am  growing  clumsy  in  my  old  age,"  he  said, 
and  laughed;  but  in  the  same  breath  he  added, 
:<  The  glass  scratched  my  hand.  It  is  a  trifle,  but 
wounds  are  not  pleasant  things  to  keep  at  table. 
Will  you  pardon  me  ?  " 

His  host  bowed  assent,  but  watched  him  curiously 
as  he  arose.  Monsieur  Lamort  had  very  sharp 
eyes,  yet  could  detect  no  wound  on  the  wrist,  where 
the  handkerchief  was  pressed  quickly,  and  his  gaze 
followed  his  guest,  who  disappeared  amid  the 
palms. 

"  A  prick  of  a  pin  is  as  annoying  in  time  of  peace  as 
a  sword-thrust  in  the  heat  of  battle,"  he  remarked. 

But  Colonel  Durande,  who  sat  near,  looked  across 
knowingly,  and  spoke  more  lowly. 

"  Poor  Diego  encourages  conversation  on  that 
theme,  though  I  fancy  he  is  never  the  happier  for  it. 
You  see,  Monsieur  Lamort,  there  is  a  story,  known  to 
the  older  people  here,  a  tragical  story,  in  which  he 
had  a  slight  part  —  nothing  to  his  discredit,  you 
understand,  only  he  was  threatened  with  after-life 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  93 

vengeance  by  a  murderer  of  this  town  whom  his 
evidence  sent  to  the  galleys,  or  rather  the  mines ; 
and  I  really  fancy  he  thinks  of  it  at  times  and  grows 
morbid." 

"  Indeed,  one  can  imagine  Don  Zanalta  in  any 
role  rather  than  the  tragical.  He  seems  so  gener 
ally  in  tune  with  everything  that  is  bright  and 
joyous." 

"  You  are  right.  But  his  memory  plays  him  tricks, 
no  doubt,  as  it  does  with  us  all  at  times.  And  it  was 
really  a  very  sad  story.  A  lady  of  high  degree  who 
stooped  to  be  loved  by  one  of  the  canaille,  a  shame 
ful  love  affair,  and  the  lady's  guardian  was  mur 
dered  by  the  lover  one  day  in  this  very  garden. 
Does  not  that  interest  you,  Monsieur  Lamort  ?  You 
are  living  on  the  stage  of  a  former  tragedy." 

"  But  what  part  did  Don  Zanalta  play  in  it,  if  I 
may  ask  ?  " 

"  He  was  the  friend  of  the  murdered  guardian, 
and  saw  the  crime  committed.  More,  the  lady  was 
intended  by  their  families  to  be  his  wife  ;  so  it  was 
said,  at  least.  But  she  died  a  recluse  soon  after  the 
man  was  sentenced.  Some  say  she  went  mad.  Any 
way,  an  aged  relative  removed  her  to  a  plantation 
near  the  Acadians,  and  she  ended  her  life  there.  A 
sad  story  ;  and  a  girl  so  beautiful  one  can  but  wonder 
that  evil  would  lurk  in  her  mind." 

"  Yes  ;  I  heard  a  crime  had  been  done  here.  The 
blacks  speak  of  it,  and  shun  one  path  when  the  dusk 
falls.  But  Don  Zanalta  said  naught  of  it  to  me.  You 
know  I  made  purchase  of  the  place  from  him." 

"  Yes,  I   remember.    I  was  one   of  the  judges  on 


94  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE, 

that  trial,  and  remember  also  the  settlement  of  the 
estates,  You  see,  as  I  said  before,  Diego  and  Le 
Noyens,  the  murdered  man,  were  close  comrades, 
But  Le  Noyens  lived  wild  and  fast,  and  many  purses 
of  gold  had  Diego  filled  for  him  —  some  over  the 
gaming-table,  for  Zanalta  dearly  loves  the  excite 
ment  of  play.  At  any  rate,  when  the  end  came  it 
became  known  that  Gaston  had  given  mortgage  to 
Diego  for  many  acres  and  many  slaves ;  and  thus 
it  was  that  Zanalta  held  this  property  until  you  took 
him  at  his  word  and  made  purchase  of  it." 

In  other  parts  of  the  i^oom  gay  words  and  soft 
laughter  sounded.  Villeneuve  was  beside  Ninon, 
and  they  were  chatting  with  much  spirit,  and  both 
laughing  a  little  when  they  would  look  at  Senora 
Mercedes,  who  was  rapidly  growing  as  girlish  as.  her 
attire  under  the  attentions  of  the  bronzerhaired 
stranger  whose  tones  were  so  caressing. 

And  Maurice,  freed  from  attendance  on  any  of  the 
fair  ones,  was  pleased  to  listen  to  the  story  thus 
strangely  started  —  a  romance  of  these  rooms  where 
gay  companions  laughed,  He  had  not  expected  to 
find  romances  in  the  new  homes  of  Orleans, 

"  And  you  were  one  of  those  who  sentenced  the 
criminal  ? "  he  asked,  speaking  to  Colonel  Durande. 
"I  always  felt  —  pardon  me  if  I  give  offense  — 
but  I  feel  that,  honorable  as  that  position  is,  I  would 
never  wish  to  fill  it.  Suppose  one  should  condemn 
innocent  people  —  sentence  them  to  death,  perhaps, 
and  learn  long  after  it  was  unjust,  I  have  read  of 
such  things." 

"  So  have  I,"  smiled  the  colonel ;   "  we  see  such 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  !)f> 

things  in  romances,  but  I  have  not  yet  met  them  in 
life.  Yes,  I  helped  to  convict  Basil  de  Bayarde, 
and  all  the  town  thought  he  was  lucky  not  to  be 
executed  instead  of  exiled,  In  fact,  it  was  to  the 
clemency  of  Diego  Zanalta  that  he  owed  his  life, 
for  Zanalta  opposed  execution,  Some  of  the  people 
claimed  he  should  be  whipped,  as  a  warning  to 
other  aspiring  rangers  who  might  fancy  a  lady's 
love  instead  of  seeking  mates  where  they  belong  — 
among  the  canaille;  but  that  favor  was  not  paid  to 
popular  opinion,  so  he  was  not  whipped,  but  only 
sent  to  the  mines  for  life," 

"  De  Bayarde  ?  "  repeated  Mattrice,  who  seemed  to 
have  heard  only  the  name  — 4i  De  Bayarde  ?  Pardon 
me,  but  in  France  that  name  is  of  the  nobles,  not  of 
the  people.  Who  was  the  man  ?  " 

"  A  ranger  of  the  river,  a  player  of  the  mandolin, 
an  Indian-fighter,  and  a  conjurer  in  the  game  of 
love,  since  he  bewitched  the  fairest  lady  of  this 
province,"  answered  Colonel  Durande,  lightly ;  in 
fact,  the  sort  of  adventurer  whose  stories  read  so 
prettily  when  set  to  rhyme,  but  whom  prosaic, 
respectable  people  ever  avoid." 

Maurice  laughed,  and  glanced  from  the  colonel  to 
his  host. 

"  I  very  much  fear,  then,  that  I  am  entering  your 
Orleans  under  a  cloud,"  he  said  ;  "  for,  gentlemen,  I 
must  confess  that  the  only  letter  of  introduction  I 
have  with  me  is  from  my  aunt,  the  Marquise  de 
Lescure,  and  is  to  an  old  friend  of  hers  called  De 
Bayarde." 

Both   gentlemen   showed  their  surprise,  and  the 


96  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

colonel  looked  frankly  uncomfortable.  Assuredly 
Chevalier  Delogne  was  lacking  in  the  tact  of  a  poli 
tician. 

"  Our  theme  was  unfortunate,  Chevalier ;  I  am  dis 
tressed  that  I  may  have  made  music  unpleasant  for 
you.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Monsieur  le  Colonel,"  returned  the 
other,  quickly ;  "  the  coincidence  of  name  is  but  a 
jest  to  laugh  at,  after  all,  for  the  man  I  seek  is  not 
named  Basil,  and  if  living  he  must  be  quite  an  old 
man  now.  His  name  is  Hector — Hector  de  Bayarde." 

"Was  Hector,"  said  the  colonel;  "but  that  was 
many  years  ago,  Chevalier  —  before  you  were  born, 
no  doubt,  for  he  died  during  the  insurrection  of  '68. 

"  Little  wonder,  then,  that  you  failed  to  find  his 
address,"  remarked  Monsieur  Lamort.  "  And  was 
he  also  an  adventurer  ?  " 

u  On  the  contrary,"  answered  the  colonel,  with 
decision,  "  he  was  a  soldier  and  a  patriot.  It  was 
a  name  the  Frenchmen  here  liked  to  remember. 
Old  men  still  like  to  speak  of  him  as  a  martyr  to  a 
lost  cause.  The  saints  were  good  to  him  that  he 
was  not  allowed  to  live  for  exile  and  imprisonment 
such  as  the  others  of  that  revolution  lived  through. 
Only  of  late  I  was  searching  old  records  of  the 
French  occupancy,  and  noticed  his  name  and  the 
list  of  properties  confiscated  by  the  Spanish  ruler, 
for  you  know  all  lands  and  slaves  of  the  revolution 
leaders  were  added  to  the  properties  of  the  crown, 
and  used  at  the  pleasure  of  the  governor-general." 

"  No,  I  was  not  aware  of  it ;  neither,  I  am  sure,  was 
my  aunt  the  marquise.  I  have  not  yet  examined 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  97 

the  papers  intrusted  to  me,  but  know  from  her  word 
that  Monsieur  de  Bayarde  was  one  whom  she  knew 
well  in  her  youth ;  more,  that  in  some  way  she 
blamed  herself  for  his  exile,  and  even  sent  to  him  a 
sum  of  money  through  a  friend,  hoping  that  she 
would  not  be  suspected  as  the  giver.  The  money 
was  given  with  the  suggestion  that  he  live  as 
beseemed  his  station  ;  but  his  senses  must  have 
been  keen,  for  he  detected  the  plot,  and  wrote  her  he 
had  purchased  the  estate,  but  for  her,  not  for  himself 
—  or  rather  had  taken  it  in  his  own  name,  and  would 
forward  the  papers  of  transfer  as  soon  as  they  could 
be  executed.  Well,  the  papers  never  reached  the 
marquise  ;  nevertheless  she  is  confident  they  were 
sent,  for  his  word  was  given.  But  ships  were  few  in 
those  days  —  some  were  lost,  and  much  that  was  val 
uable  went  down,  including,  perhaps,  De  Bayarde's 
message.  And  then  there  was  a  marquis  at  that 
time,  and  rumor  has  it  that  he  was  most  watchful  of 
his  fair  bride,  or  any  message  that  came  near  her ; 
so  who  knows?  I  am  here  to  please  my  aunt,  and 
whether  I  find  him  or  no,  I  am  to  remain  a  space 
and  study  the  new  land  and  my  fitness  for  it.  I  con 
fess  I  feel  that  I  am  simply  searching  for  the  sequel 
to  an  old  lady's  romance,  but  so  charming  an  old  lady 
that  I  am  quite  willing  to  swear  myself  her  knight. 
And,  in  truth,  had  I  been  in  De  Bayarde's  shoes,  I 
should  have  stolen  her  in  her  youth,  and  not  crossed 
the  seas  alone  ;  for  she  was  only  a  betrothed  at  that 
time,  and  not  a  wife." 

"  I  feel  like  an  audience  of  one,  for  whom  you  and 
Colonel  Durande  are  reading  romances  of*  the  past 


98  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

this  evening,"  said  their  host,  who  seemed  closely 
interested  in  Maurice  and  his  mission.  "  But  is  it 
not  strange  that  through  all  these  years  the  mar 
quise  should  never  have  learned  of  his  death  ?  " 

"  Scarcely ;  her  life  has  been  that  of  a  nun  ever 
since  I  remember.  Only  this  past  year,  and  at  my 
entreaty,  did  she  return  to  court.  But,  monsieur,  I 
beg  many  pardons  for  thus  filling  your  evening 
with  my  family  history.  I  scarce  know  how  it 
began,  but  I  am  sure  it  will  end  with  your  other 
guests  crying  out  against  my  selfishness." 

"  From  only  Madame  Villette  must  we  crave 
grace,"  answered  Monsieur  Lamort.  "  All  the  rest 
are  too  far  away  to  be  affected  by  our  withdrawal 
from  their  gaiety.  Madame,  will  you  pardon  us  for 
daring  to  spend  five  minutes  talking  of  a  lady  across 
the  seas  when  you  yourself  were  within  hearing  ? 
We  are  very  humble,  and  willing  to  drink  any  num 
ber  of  glasses  to  your  health,  if  you  will  but  take  us 
into  favor  once  more." 

Ninon  nodded,  and  smiled  her  assent,  inwardly 
thinking,  "  A  toast  —  then  of  course  he  must  look 
this  way  for  an  instant,  and  I  will  seem  not  to  know 
he  is  in  the  room." 

And  Monsieur  Lamort  arose  and  asked  his  guests 
to  drink  with  him  to  the  health  and  happiness  of 
Ninon  —  Madame  Villette  ;  and  the  readiness  of  all 
was  shown  by  the  smiles  directed  to  charming 
Ninon. 

There  was  only  one  exception.  The  exception 
was  Monsieur  Raynel,  who,  to  be  sure,  met  his  host's 
proposition  with  a  smile,  but,  strangely  enough, 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.  99 

looked  into  the  eyes  of  Senora  Mercedes  when  he 
lifted  his  glass,  and  drained  it  as  though  it  were  a 
love-potion  longed  for  eagerly. 

And  in  truth  poor  Constante  was  having  a  glo 
rious  hour  of  it,  and  dared  not  let  his  glances  wan 
der  lest  they  should  never  come  back  to  linger  on 
the  owner  of  those  uncounted  acres. 

"  And  you  are  an  artist  ?  "  she  asked,  with  the  most 
flattering  surprise.  "  Ah,  monsieur,  you  know  not 
to  what  a  desert  you  have  come  !  Art  ?  —  the  word 
is  forgotten  here  by  any  who  ever  knew  its  mean 
ing.  But  I,  well,  I  am  from  Madrid,  and  what  need 
to  tell  to  you,  an  art  lover,  of  the  masterpieces  there 
on  which  I  was  used  to  gaze  ?  I  have  missed  them 
sadly  here,  and  can  promise  you  the  sympathy  of 
one  soul  in  this  town,  where  — alas  that  it  should  be 
so!  — few  people  care  for  aught  but  a  rush  for 
wealth." 

"  Sad  indeed  is  it  to  see  humanity  waste  its  ener 
gies  in  the  pursuit  of  dross,"  agreed  Constante,  with 
the  most  spirituclle  expression  his  face  was  capable 
of.  "  It  is  much  to  be  lamented." 

"Well  may  you  say  that,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Raynel.  Indeed  your  whole  manner  of  conversation 
betrays  you  as  a  gentleman  of  most  exemplary 
thought.  Believe  me,  I  am  indeed  gratified  to  have 
made  your  acquaintance,  and  trust  we  may  continue 
it  in  my  own  house,  where  you  will  be  welcomed 
most  heartily." 

"  Ah,  madame,  you  dazzle  me  with  your  kindness. 
What  return  can  a  poor  artist  make  for  the  exquis 
ite  pleasure  you  have  given  me  ?  To  be  met  with 


100  A    FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

sympathy  for  my  work  on  the  very  threshold 
of  my  life  here  —  sympathy  from  a  lady  —  such  a 
lady !  Madame,  pardon  me  if  I  express  poorly  my 
thanks  ;  but  be  sure  your  kind  invitation  will  be 
most  gratefully  accepted." 

"  I  shall  look  forward,  then,  to  many  interesting 
discussions  on  your  chosen  art.  We  possess  some 
examples  of  portrait-work  that  are  not  bad,  but 
nothing  late,  nothing  of  my  own,  in  fact,  since  my 
marriage,  though  I  have  several  times  contemplated 
having  one  made. 

"  Ah,  madame  !  "  and  Constante  looked  at  her,  but 
his  voice,  or  his  conscience,  could  take  him  no  far 
ther  —  his  meaning  was  interpreted  by  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  see,"  remarked  Donna  Mer 
cedes,  coquettishly,  and  showed  by  the  half-prom 
ise  that  the  language  of  sighs  was  not  forgotten  by 
her.  u  And  our  church  here  needs  sadly  the  hand 
of  an  artist.  In  fact,  we  have  spoken  more  than 
once  of  sending  to  Spain  for  one.  So  it  may  be  of 
substantial  interest  to  you  to  call  when  your  leisure 
will  permit.  My  brother-in-law,  Don  Zanalta, 
whom  you  have  met,  has  much  power  in  such  decis 
ions  here,  and  I  will  see  that  he  is  interested." 

"  Dear  lady,"  and  Monsieur  Raynel's  tones  were 
infinitely  caressing,  "  it  has  been  said  that  '  out  of 
the  fullness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.'  I 
turn  infidel  to  that  from  this  night,  for  to  my  lips 
will  come  no  words  fit  to  thank  you  in." 

And  then  the  rascal  gave  silent  thanks  to  the 
saints  because  the  guests  were  dispersing  from  the 
table,  and  he  could  betake  himself  from  the  widow's 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSlEUR/^AMOfcr',; 

side  for  a  few  blessed  minutes  —  a  liberty  lie  took 
quick  advantage  of,  and  found  himself  a  little  later 
beside  Maurice,  attempting  a  cigarette,  and  feeling 
as  tired  as  a  man  who  has  run  a  long  race. 

"  Well  ?  "  queried  his  friend,  looking  at  him  smil 
ingly  and  speaking  in  the  tone  that  asks,  "  How  is 
the  world  treating  you?  " 

In  fact,  he  himself  had  met  so  many  things  of 
interest  that  he  had  well-nigh  lost  sight  of  Con- 
stante.  But  that  worthy  was  not  disposed  to  be  con 
fidential.  He  scowled  slightly  at  his  questioner,  and 
gripped  the  cigarette  until  it  was  twisted  past  repair. 
In  fact,  the  mercenary  path  he  had  chosen  seemed 
filled  with  every  conceivable  annoyance  ;  and  this 
was  only  the  beginning  —  one  short  hour  borrowed 
from  the  paradise  he  assured  himself  he  would  ask 
ere  long  of  the  gracious  widow.  For  had  she  not 
shown  by  her  very  flattering  attention  that  no 
advance  of  his  would  be  thought  presuming  ?  He 
sighed  even  while  he  congratulated  himself. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  a  hopeless  fool,  Constante,"  he 
growled  to  himself.  "Is  it  not  what  you  have 
asked  for  — money,  wealth  to  last  you  all  your  life, 
leisure  with  which  to  enjoy  every  gift  of  glorious 
existence?  And  the  owner  of  it  ready  to  drop  at 
your  touch  like  a  ripe  peach  —  ugh  !  —  overripe  ! 
That  maddening  girl  with  the  eyes  !  —  what  is  it  her 
concern  ?  Why  must  I  feel  her  looking  at  me,  even 
though  I  do  not  see  her  ?  And  to  look  at  me,  too, 
with  that  pretty  curl  of  the  lip  — the  insolence  of  it ! 
-but  the  charm  of  it!  Suppose  I  should  build  a 
little  cabin,  such  as  I  could  afford,  and  ask  that  por- 


A   FIOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

tionless  mademoiselle  to  enter  it  with  me?  Con- 
stante,  my  boy,  you  are  mad,  quite  mad.  Heretofore, 
however  wild  your  plans  may  have  been,  the  vision 
of  marriage  has  never  entered  into  them.  It  is  the 
free  air  of  this  land  getting  into  your  brain  like 
wine,  but  it  won't  do,  it  won't  do.  The  common- 
sense  thing  for  you,  Constante,  is  to  ask  the  widow 
to  go  into  church  some  fine  morning,  and  thus  settle 
yourself  for  life.  That  will  not  fulfill  your  vision  of 
marriage,  perhaps,  but  it  will  be  a  very  sensible 
arrangement.  And  those  eyes?  Ah,  well,  they 
will-  serve  for  a  Madonna  in  the  church  I  am  to 
adorn." 

And  a  few  moments  later  Delogne  missed  him 
again,  and  found  time,  in  the  midst  of  his  pleasures, 
to  wonder  what  contrary  wind  had  struck  Constante  ? 
To  be  sure,  he  was  always  a  fellow  of  whims,  but 
not  whims  that  left  him  silent  and  thoughtful  where 
others  were  gay. 

But  Maurice  had  pleasant  things  of  his  own  inter 
est  to  consider,  and  it  was  small  wonder  if  he  soon 
forgot  his  friend's  unusual  manner,  for  Monsieur 
Lamort  had  said,  when  they  found  themselves  alone : 

"  Come  to  me  to-morrow,  my  dear  Chevalier,  and 
it  may  be  I  can  help  you  to  unravel  this  tangled 
maze  to  which  you  are  trying  to  find  the  clue.  At 
any  rate,  if  you  will  so  far  honor  me  as  to  trust  me 
with  the  letters,  I  will  advise  you  to  the  best  of  my 
ability.  In  fact,  I  confess  I  feel  an  interest  in  your 
welfare,  and  as  it  may  be  in  my  power  to  serve  you, 
I  beg  that  you  will  at  any  time  come  to  me  freely. 
No,  do  not  thank  me.  You  are  of  French  blood  ;  so 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.         103 

am  I.  That  alone  is  a  bond  on  a  strange  shore ;  and 
you  will  no  doubt  often  hear  my  house  spoken  of  as 
"the  place  of  exiles."  So  you  will  be  here  to-mor 
row?  That  is  well." 

And  Maurice  congratulated  himself  that  he  had 
landed  in  America  under  a  lucky  star,  for  his  meet 
ings  had  been^nost  successful.  And  that  one  meet 
ing  down  there  by  the  hospital  near  the  river,  and 
the  brave  yet  childish  eyes  of  that  girl  ?  He  had 
but  to  close  his  own  eyes  to  see  them  yet.  They  had 
drifted  between  himself  and  many  another  face  that 
evening. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  selfish  reverie  he  heard 
the  faint  cry  of  a  woman  near  by.  The  musicians 
were  playing.  No  one  else  seemed  to  note  it,  and 
he  turned  quickly  toward  the  palms  from  which  the 
sound  came. 

But  swift  as  he  was,  another  was  more  swift,  and 
that  other  was  Constante.  Where  he  came  from  so 
quickly  was  a  mystery,  but  he  was  there  ;  in  his 
arms  was  a  slight  rose-draped  figure  and  at  his  feet 
a  sputtering  candle  smoldered  in  its  frills  of  paper, 
now  ashes.  A  smell  of  burnt  silk  was  in  the  air, 
and  one  wing-like  sleeve  was  gone  from  Madame 
Ninon's  gown. 

And  the  closeness  of  that  embrace  was  explained 
by  the  lady's  danger,  for  without  doubt  the  uncere 
monious  grasp  had  smothered  the  blazing  sleeve, 
and  perhaps  averted  a  very  serious  accident. 

But  at  the  voice  of  Maurice  the  two  chief  actors  in 
the  little  drama  drew  apart  like  a  couple  of  culprits, 
Constante  white  as  a  sheet,  but  Madame  Villette 
pink  as  the  gown  she  wore. 


104  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"I  —  I  was  frightened,  monsieur.  I — am  so 
sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  she  at  last  succeeded 
in  saying,  but  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  mademoiselle,  for  approaching 
you  so  roughly,"  murmured  Constante,  meekly,  his 
usually  audacious  gaze  averted.  He  was  so  angry 
with  himself  because  his  voice  trembled,  and  he 
could  feel  that  his  face  was  pale ;  and  there  was 
Maurice,  too  —  Maurice  looking  at  him  in  wonder. 
Did  it  not  seem  as  though  the  very  devils  were  in 
league  against  him  ?  And  his  tongue  seemed  tied 
fast. 

But  as  Maurice  was  the  only  one  whose  wits  were 
under  control,  it  was  he  who  offered  his  arm  to 
Madame  Ninon. 

"  It  is  most  natural  you  should  be  frightened,"  he 
assured  her.  "  Permit  me  to  conduct  you  to  a  seat. 
Were  you  at  all  burned  ?  Can  I  do  any  service  for 
you  ? " 

"  No,  no.  I  am  recovered  —  quite.  The  wind 
but  blew  the  gauze  of  my  sleeve  across  the  chande 
lier.  Then  it  was  quick  flame,  so  quick  it  did  not 
scorch  me,  and  then  your  friend  did  arrive ;  and  I 
am  distressed,  monsieur  —  I  am  indeed.  Were  his 
hands  not  burned  ?  Pray  go  and  see  —  do  not 
trouble  any  one  about  me.  I  am  heartily  glad  the 
others  did  not  hear  my  cry.  I  will  await  you  here,  if 
you  will  but  learn  if  he  is  hurt." 

"  Hurt?  "  repeated  Constante  when  Maurice  ques 
tioned  him.  Then  he  opened  his  hands,  looked  at 
them  as  if  for  the  first  time,  picked  from  his  sleeve 
a  shred  of  silk  tissue  and  retained  it  in  his  fingers. 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.         105 

"  Hurt?  No  ;  a  bit  scorched,  but  that  is  all.  What 
concern  had  she  with  the  candles  that  she  must 
festoon  them  with  her  draperies?  Sacrc!  There 
must  be  an  especial  saint  in  these  parts  to  look  after 
the  simple." 

"  Fie  !  That  is  by  no  means  a  gallant  speech,  my 
friend.  Come  you,  and  let  her  see  you  are  not 
injured." 

"  I  ?  Not  a  step  will  I  budge.  She  will  find 
plenty  to  give  sympathy  without  me  making  longer 
the  list.  I  am  going  to  the  gardens." 

And  out  into  the  lawn  he  did  go,  and  no  words 
from  his  friend  could  prevent  him  or  gain  a  reason 
for  his  whims  ;  but  after  a  space  of  loneliness  there, 
and  more  quiet  thought  than  Constante  generally 
gave  any  question,  the  finale  of  his  self-argument 
was  reached,  by  words  not  loud,  but  evidently 
earnest. 

And  the  words  were,  "  To  the  devil  may  go  the 
diamond  buckles !  " 

And  having  confided  that  statement  to  himself, 
he  drew  a  long  breath,  as  of  a  man  who  lets  fall  a 
heavy  load  by  the  roadside,  and  walks  on  without  it, 
free. 

When  he  saw  her  again  she  was  seated  demurely 
between  Maurice  and  Colonel  Durande.  Over  her 
shoulders  lay  a  shawl  of  lace,  and  the  burnt  sleeve 
was  never  missed,  and  the  serenity  of  the  evening 
had  not  been  disturbed  by  the  others  hearing  of  her 
danger. 

And  farther  away  across  the  room  sat  the  lady  of 
the  diamond  buckles.  He  was  delighted  to  observe 


106  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

that  she  was  circled  by  dowagers,  and  that  no  one 
could  be  expected  to  approach. 

He  again  felt  Ninon's  eyes  on  him.  Ah,  if  she 
knew  he  had  meant  to  have  those  diamond  buckles ! 
How  grotesque  everything  was ! 

He  approached  Monsieur  Lamort  and  Don  Zanalta ; 
the  latter  was  laughing,  and  held  a  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  satisfactory,  and  a  good  business  for 
us  both,  I  suspect,"  he  was  saying.  "  Monsieur 
Raynel,  we  may  ask  you  to  be  witness  to  a  swift 
bargain  we  have  made  this  night  —  a  droll  thing  to 
do  at  a  feast,  but  why  not  ?  " 

11  And  you  say  she  can  dance,  this  very  peculiar 
slave  ? "  asked  Monsieur  Lamort ;  but  the  other 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Ninon  says  so  —  I  have  never  seen  her ;  but  it 
is  no  doubt  simply  extravagant  postures  such  as  the 
Africans  use  before  their  idols  in  their  own  land. 
Yet  if  she  were  here  she  should  show  you.  It  would 
be  an  amusing  thing,  at  least,  to  see  her,  and  a 
novelty  for  the  ladies." 

''Indeed,  yes;  we  should  have  thought  of  it 
sooner.  There  are  so  few  diverisons  or  amusements 
in  this  town.  Would  she  were  here." 

And  Constante  nearly  fell  over  a  great  vase  of 
blossoms  when  close  to  him  a  voice  said : 

"  Do  you  want  me,  master?  " 

She  came  through  the  curtains  of  the  low  window 
and  stood  before  them  —  Venda.  Her  dress  was 
different  than  that  of  the  day.  It  was  all  white  ;  of 
the  coarse  linen,  it  is  true,  but  very  white.  Her 


AN   EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.         107 

anklets  and  necklets  glinted  against  the  brown  skin  ; 

her  feet  bore  sandals  bound  with  white,  and  about 

her  waist  was  a  girdle  of  snake-skin. 

She  stood  there  impassive  as  a  statue,  not  looking 

at  Zanalta ;  but  he  moved  a  step  farther  from  her, 

and  clinched  his  fingers  nervously.    She  was  always 

a  ghost  to  him. 

"Your   Mistress    Ninon    says     you    dance    well, 

Venda,"     said    Monsieur    Lamort,  kindly.     "  Your 

master  has  offered  to  sell  you  to  me  ;  will  you  dance 

for  my  guests  in  my  house  ? " 

"  If  Venda  may  speak  to  the  music-players  —  yes, 

master." 

"As  you  please.     Tell  them  what  you  want,  and 

then  commence." 

She  did  so.  Two  of  them,  a  violin  player  and  a 
guitar  player,  came  forward  with  her  down  the 
room  to  a  sing-song  cadence  that  was  no  tune,  yet 
the  motion  to  it  was  rhythmical.  And  those  blacks 
who  swayed  down  the  room  in  advance  of  her  until 
they  reached  the  center  separated  that  she  might 
go  first.  Had  they  all  learned  together  that  same 
chorus  of  motion  in  some  strange  pagan  ceremony  ? 
Had  they  been  of  those  whom  she  had  boasted  of 
buying  and  selling  in  her  own  land  ?  For  their  eyes 
looked  proud  as  they  touched  the  strings  to  the 
weird  cadence  and  glanced  at  each  other. 

And  the  dance?  Well,  it  was  not  such  as  the 
blacks  dance  together  on  the  threshing-floors  or  in 
the  yards  of  their  cabins  when  the  moon  comes  up. 
There  was  the  semi-oriental  obeisance  to  things 
unseen,  but  on  which  hei  eyes  appeared  to  rest. 


108  A  FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

There  was  a  crooning-  sound  from  her  lips  as  she 
swayed  backward  and  forward,  with  eyes  half-closed, 
as  one  who  charms  and  draws  to  her  a  thing  un 
willing.     There  was  a  call  triumphant  as  she  leaped 
forward  with  hand  outstretched  to  claim  a  victory ; 
and  then,  as  though  holding  an  imaginary  hand,  she 
danced  —  a  dance  with  the  writhing  grace  of  a  ser 
pent  through  every  movement ;    the  quick  dart  to 
right,  to  left,  and  then  the  quick  curl  of  the  body ; 
the  quick  motion  of  the  head  thrown  back  as  if  for 
kisses;  and   ever  that  one   hand  poised  as  though 
held  by  one  who  danced  unseen  beside  her.     Then 
the  touch  on  the  guitar  grew  swifter,  stronger ;  on 
the  strings  of  the  violin  more  fierce  and  fast ;  the 
waving  arms  and  lithe  body  whirled  with  the  aban 
donment  of  madness  before  the  astonished  guests. 
Then  there  was  a  final  cry  of  the  music  —  a  "  hone !  " 
-from  the  players,  and  Venda  stood  one  instant 
straight   as  a   cypress-tree   before  them,  and   then 
bent  low  to  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you?"  asked  Senora  Mercedes  of 
her  neighbor.  "  She  dances  with  the  devil  for  a 
mate,  for  what  human  thing  could  move  alone  like 
that  ?  Is  it  wonder  that  I  dread  her  in  the  house  ?  " 
And,  indeed,  the  lady  found  many  another  to  sym 
pathize  with  her  in  that  notion,  for  one  sorely 
repented  that  medicine  for  rheumatism  had  been 
gotten  from  that  same  slave  to  cure  a  cousin  of  hers. 
To  be  sure,  the  cousin  grew  well  and  sound  from  it, 
but  who  was  to  tell  that  the  evil  one  had  not  a  claim 
on  his  soul  for  that  cure  ? 

And  each  asked  the  other  if   she  had  seen  any 


AN    EVENING   WITH    MONSIEUR    LAMORT.         109 

feature  of  that  shadow  dancing  beside  the  witch  ; 
and  one  was  found  who  fancied  she  saw  the  hand 
Venda  clasped ;  another  was  sure  there  was  the 
shade  of  two  bodies  at  Venda's  feet ;  and  all  shivered 
a  little,  and  were  glad  when  the  more  rational  music 
called  the  white  dancers,  who  one  by  one  drifted 
away  from  the  corner  where  the  slave  stood. 

But  Monsieur  Lamort  looked  at  her  curiously, 
though  kindly. 

"Well,  you  have  done  well,  though  strangely,"  he 
said,  and  then  turned  to  Don  Zanalta,  whose  face 
showed  wonder,  uncertainty,  and  some  complex  feel 
ing  that  made  his  hands  clinch.  "  So,  Don  Zanalta, 
now  that  she  is  here,  and  has  danced  so  bravely  for 
my  guests,  is  she  to  remain  in  my  house  ?  The  bar 
gain,  as  you  said,  is  a  quick  one,  so  why  not  conclude 
it  ?  The  paper  is  ready  ;  shall  we  sign  ?  " 

Zanalta  threw  back  his  head  as  though  to  shake 
away  some  unpleasant  thought. 

"Why  not? "he  asked.  "Monsieur  Raynel,  will 
you  witness  this  ?  " 

"  My  purse,  Sebastian,"  said  Monsieur  Lamort ; 
and  directly  it  was  placed,  heavy  and  clinking,  on 
the  table.  A  sum  was  counted,  that  stood  in  little 
gold  columns  side  by  side,  and  on  which  Venda's 
eyes  rested,  while  her  hand  crept  to  her  throat  as  if 
to  choke  back  a  sound  that  arose  there. 

Don  Zanalta  looked  at  the  gold,  and  stepping  for 
ward  took  the  pen  Sebastian  held  ready.  Writing 
his  name,  he  gave  the  pen  to  Constante,  who  signed 
as  a  witness,  but  kept  respectfully  distant  from  the 
creature  purchased.  As  a  product  of  civilization,  he 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

did  not  quite  feel  comfortable  near  this  thing  from 
the  jungles,  who  danced,  but  without  mirth,  like  a 
prisoner  loosed  from  the  inferno. 

And  as  he  moved  away  the  creature  crept  nearer 
Monsieur  Lamort.  As  the  gold-pieces  clinked  one 
against  the  other  she  dropped  to  her  knees,  and  her 
lips  touched  his  hand.  He  had  not  noticed  her,  and 
the  touch  startled  him.  He  looked  down  quickly, 
she  must  have  thought  angrily,  for  she  raised  her 
hand  as  though  in  pleading. 

"Master!  it  is  only  that  I  hear  for  the  first  time 
the  sound  of  gold  paid  for  me.  Venda  was  never 
before  bought  with  money ;  but  she  kneels  to  say  it 
is  music  in  her  ears,  because  now  for  all  her  life 
she  may  call  you  master." 

Monsieur  Lamort  glanced  at  the  strange,  whimsi 
cal  creature  with  a  smile,  and  he  looked  across  at 
Zanalta,  expecting  to  see  him  amused  also  at  the 
demonstrative  speech,  but  there  was  no  amusement 
on  the  Spaniard's  face. 

He  was  glaring  at  his  lately  sold  slave  as  though 
to  compel  her  to  look  up  and  see  the  threatening, 
unspoken  somctliing  in  his  eyes.  Monsieur  Lamort 
did  not  understand  in  the  least  what  that  something 
was,  though  he  instinctively  felt  the  savageness  of  it, 
and  dropping  his  hand  on  the  Avomans  white  hair  he 
looked  questioningly  at  Zanalta. 

But  the  don  quickly  recovered  himself,  swept  the 
last  gold-piece  into  his  pocket,  and  bowing  as  one 
who  ends  a  discussion,  he  followed  Constante,  who 
was  nearing  the  dancers.  A  certain  lace-draped 
form  there  drew  that  young  man's  attention  in  a 


THE   NEXT   MORNING.  Ill 

manner  most  distracting-.  And  in  the  stately  music 
of  the  minuet  all  seemed  to  forget  the  wild,  dark 
dancer,  who  knelt  near  the  palms,  speechless,  at  the 
feet  of  her  new  master. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   NEXT   MORNING. 

THE  day  was  yet  young  when  Maurice  and  Con- 
stante  bade  each  other  good-morning  after  their 
first  sleep  in  the  new  land.  Up  from  the  slow- 
moving  river  came  a  breath  of  the  sea,  and  beyond 
its  silvered  land-line  quivered  the  green  of  the 
willows. 

"  How  little  we  fancied  that  this  exile  would  lead 
us  amid  scenes  so  oriental  as  that  of  last  night," 
remarked  Maurice,  lazily  arousing  himself  from 
visions  of  palms  and  beauty.  "  But,  Constante,  I 
would  give  a  ring  off  my  finger  to  know  what 
changed  your  nature  in  Monsieur  Lamort's  house. 
Why,  sir,  I  had  to  tax  my  ingenuity  more  than  once 
to  excuse  your  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  beauty 
about  you.  I  never  imagined  you  could  be  so  indif 
ferent." 

Indifferent !  Constante  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
that  had  not  slept  for  one  moment  of  the  dying 
night  or  the  growing  dawn.  What  a  meager  gain 
sleep  would  be  if  in  exchange  he  gave  up  those 
waking  dreams  conjured  by  two  appealing  brown 


112  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

eyes  and  one  quick,  smothering  embrace  there  in 
the  garden  of  palms  ! 

So  Constante  had  kept  that  which  was  sweetest  to 
him,  and  made  no  reply  to  the  badinage  of  his 
friend.  His  thoughts  were  concentrated  on  the 
fact  that  in  six  hours  he  might  possibly  risk  the 
consternation  of  the  Zanalta  household  and  call,  as 
the  dowager  had  made  request.  To  be  sure  they 
would  all  wonder  at  his  haste,  but  in  the  cause  of 
art  — ah!  that  thought  was  a  veritable  inspiration. 
In  the  service  of  art  one  dare  be  as  eccentric  as 
pleases  oneself. 

Therefore,  in  exactly  six  hours  by  the  clock  he 
would  venture  across  the  threshold  where  the  beau 
tiful  one  of  the  ancient  name  resided.  To  be  sure 
he  would  have  to  see  the  lady  of  the  diamonds  first, 
and  to  be  sure  he  would  have  to  tell  many  curious 
tales  to  excuse  a  call  at  breakfast-time ;  but  what 
mattered  all  that  if  in  recompense  he  could  see  one 
white  hand  through  a  lattice,  or  meet  again  those 
mutinous,  wondering  brown  eyes  ? 

The  chevalier  glanced  at  him  covertly  several 
times  during  their  preparations  for  the  street.  For 
the  first  time  he  found  Constante  a  closed  book  to 
him,  a  surly,  frowning  person  one  moment  and  a 
dreamy,  smiling  one  the  next,  but  never  a  word. 

"Well,"  said  his  friend  at  last,  "if  you  will  not 
speak,  are  you  able  to  listen  ?  I  have  been  look 
ing  over  the  letter  of  my  aunt  the  marquise  — 
heaven  be  good  to  her ! —  but,  much  as  I  love  her,  the 
letter  does  not  make  me  happy.  Oh,  these  plots 
and  damnable  intrigues  of  the  court !  " 


THE   NEXT    MORNING.  113 

"Hist!"  and  Constante  turned  with  uplifted 
hand.  '•  Be  wary,  and  less  loud  with  your  free 
speech.  Walls  may  have  ears  in  this  land  as  in  the 
old  ;  and  if  you  should  care  to  return  to  France,  it 
is  as  well  not  to  have  treason  to  answer  for." 

"Treason  !  Never  to  France,  but  to  the  shifting, 
vacillating  principles  of  ministration.  Who  can 
swear  fealty  to  that  which  can  not  assure  itself  of 
its  right  or  its  stanchness?  The  ministers  are 
changed  as  one  changes  his  coat,  and  each  new  one 
has  his  own  little  personal  ends  to  secure,  let  who 
will  suffer.  But  that  I  —  that  my  name  —  ah  !  " 

"  W^hat  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Read  that.     It  is  infamous." 

Constante  took  the  letter,  a  very  long  one,  and 
read  the  sheet  pointed  to  : 

'  My  dear  one  —  my  son  —  for  you  are  as  a  son  to 
my  heart  —  I  ask  your  pardon  for  thus  sending  you 
from  me  in  ignorance  of  my  reason.  I  fear  you  will 
blame  me  for  making  you  seem  like  a  coward  in  the 
eyes  of  others ;  but  be  sure  I  would  never  have 
sent  you  from  a  battle  where  the  contest  was  fair. 
Listen,  and  forgive  me  because  of  my  love  ;  and  I 
hold  you  to  your  promise  to  remain  where  you  are 
until  I  ask  your  return,  or  until  the  five  years  have 
passed. 

"  *  Maurice,  none  knows  more  clearly  than  I  that 
you  have  nothing  to  blush  for  in  the  friendship  of 
Madame  la  Princess;  but  it  is  none  the  less  true  that 
jealous  eyes  are  on  her.  She  is  not  one  to  be  influ 
enced  by  either  husband  or  courtiers  from  her  ideas 

8 


114  A    FLOWER    OF    FRANCE. 

of  right;  but  — how  shall  I  say  it?  — there  are  those 
high  in  power  who  have  striven  to  draw  her  into 
plans  where  she  could  be  of  use  to  them.     Her  hus 
band  is  one  of  them.     His  anger  has  led  him  to  be 
jealous  of  some  one  —  any  one  whom  he  fancies  frus 
trates  his  plans  by  rendering  her  impassive  to  his 
influence.     Maurice,  because  of  her  interest  in  you, 
he  has  chosen  to  mark  you  as  chief  enemy  to  his  con 
tent.     And  the  reason  why  I  have  been  so  strangely 
urgent  in  this  matter  of  your  departure ;  why  I  send 
this  letter  to  you  only  when  I  see  from  the  shore  that 
the  sails  are  set  —  the  reason  for  all  this  is  that  I  fear 
hourly  the  gates  of  the  Bastille  will  be  closed  on 
you;  and  through  the  princess  I  know  enough  to 
be  sure  it  would  be  useless  to  contend  against  the 
evidence  they  have  arranged.     It  has  been  disclosed 
to  her  as  a  threat  of  what  will  be  done  if  she  still 
combats  them.     She  has  asked  time  to  consider ;  and 
closely  watched  as  she  is,  has  yet  managed  to  tell 
me  of"  the  plot.     Do  not  think  of  returning  to  help 
her;   it   would   mean,  perhaps,  death  to   you  both. 
She  will  always  have  help  from  me,  and  mine  will 
not  injure  her  in  the  eyes  of  her  world,  as  yours 
would.     Bear  that  in  memory,  my  son.     Any  help 
you  could  offer  would  only  strengthen  their  conspir 
acy  against  you.     She  knows  you  to  be  innocent,  and 
sends  her  prayers  to  you ;  heed  them,  and  be  con- 
'tent.'" 

"  Whew !  "  whistled  Constante  as  he  held  the  paper 
at  arm's-length ;  "  that  suggestion  of  the  Bastille  is 
quite  near  enough  with  the  ocean  between  us.  It  is 


THE   NEXT    MORNING.  11  f) 

as  I  thought.  Well,  my  friend,  I  congratulate  you 
on  getting  away  from  it  so  easily." 

"  Congratulate  —  pouf !  You  do  not  then  consider 
that  I  will  be  accused  of  flight  —  flight  before  that 
figurehead  of  a  princely  house.  Ah !  it  is  all  ridicu 
lous." 

"  No" — and  Constante  spoke  with  a  gravity  unus 
ual — "  there  is  nothing  ridiculous  in  the  risks 
taken  by  those  two  ladies  to  warn  you.  The  mean 
nesses  of  his  royal  highness  are  most  extreme ; 
but  his  wife  comes  of  too  powerful  a  family  for  him 
to  vent  his  rage  openly  on  her.  She  will  be  relieved 
to  know  how  entirely  you  have  eluded  them  —  and 
more,  that  you  are  content  to  abide  by  your  aunt's 
judgment  and  remain.  I  advise  you  to  write  by 
the  first  ship  that  sails,  and  let  the  marquise  see 
that  you  do  not  rebel  against  her  wishes." 

"  Well  spoken,  Constante  !  —  and  —  I  accept  your 
advice  and  hers  —  but  — 

"  Nay,  nay ;  not  a  regret,  Maurice.  Our  life-lines 
are  here ;  let  us  make  the  best  of  them." 

"What  has  made  you  a  philosopher?"  smiled  the 
other.  "  Was  it  the  sparkle  of  those  diamonds  you 
spent  last  evening  so  close  to?  But  you  are  right. 
I  will  "seal  the  good  resolution  by  calling  early  on 
Monsieur  Lamort  and  presenting  those  papers  to 
his  notice ;  so  for  an  hour  or  two  you  will  have  to 
seek  your  own  amusement  after  breakfast.  Be  wise 
as  you  can,  and  lose  no  more  of  your  heart  to  those 
Indian  boat-paddlers." 

And  the  wily  Constante  bowed  to  the  advice  in 
silence,  and  with  never  a  twinge  of  conscience  let 


116  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

his  friend  pass  out  in  ignorance  of  the  heart 
weighted  dreams  flitting  through  his  own  liead- 
dreams  for  the  future,  a  future  made  luminous  by 
the  memory  of  soft  black  eyes  and  a  mouth  tender 
in  its  curves  as  the  mouth  of  a  child.  To  be  sure  she 
might  refuse  to  speak  to  him,  beyond  a  "  thank  you  " 

for  that  episode  of  the  blaze.     Well,  even  so that 

spell  of  love's  first  illusion  was  yet  with  him  —  he  was 
sure  he  could  adore  her  forever  at  a  distance. 

But  once  in  the  ruthless  sunshine  of  the  streets, 
face  to  face  with  the  lazy  yet  curious  eyes  of  the 
natives,  he  felt  the  courage  of  his  solitude  oozing 
away  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  also  the  dame 
of  the  diamonds  —  perhaps  having  to  even  woo  her 
to  win  the  other. 

Don  Zanalta  was  not  at  home,  by  black  Gourfi's 
statement  —  a  fact  for  which  Monsieur  Raynel  was 
grateful.  It  is  so  much  more  difficult  to  explain 
one's  enthusiasm  to  a  man  —  women  are  more  sym 
pathetic,  especially  if  the  enthusiast  be  handsome. 

But  Madame  Villette  —  the  ladies  ?  Oh,  yes  —  the 
ladies  were  home  ;  and  even  Gourfi's  face  expressed 
the  thought  that  it  was  a  strange  hour  to  be  any 
where  else  —  breakfast  was  so  lately  over. 

"  Ask  Madame  Villette  if  she  can  grant  me  an  in 
terview  so  early,  or  if  not,  to  let  me  know  at  what 
hour  I  may  return  and  see  her." 

"  And  the  name,  master  ?  " 

"Constante  Raynel." 

Madame  Villette  gave  a  little  gasp  when  the  mes 
sage  was  brought.  He  —  so  early,  and  so  —  so  de 
termined  to  be  seen!  Ah,  this  was  delicious  and 


THE    NEXT    MORNING.  117 

unusual  —  all   the    more   delicious  because    Donna 
Zanalta  had  not  yet  been  seen  without  the  walls  of 
her  chamber  that  day  ;  so  it  would  be  a  tete-a-tete  — 
it  even  seemed  an  adventure  in  her  too  prosy  life. 

And  you  may  be  sure  Madame  Ninon  did  not 
leave  her  chamber  without  very  critical  glances  at 
her  image  in  the  mirror.  Her  prettiest  slippers 
were  donned,  her  most  delicate-tinted  scarf,  and,  as 
a  crowning  charm,  she  wore  on  the  open-throated 
white  gown  a  cluster  of  yellow  roses. 

And  Constante  —  the  hypocrite  --  had  discov 
ered  on  the  wall  that  long-since-painted  portrait  of 
the  Spanish  lady,  before  which  he  was  posed  when 
he  heard  that  little  tap,  tap  of  dainty  heels  on  the 
waxed  floor. 

He  turned  with  his  most  impressive  bow,  with 
eyes  drooped  in  diffidence  most  charming. 

"Madame  Villette ! "  murmured  the  rascal,  as 
though  he  had  waited  ages  longing  for  her  face. 
Then  his  eyes  traveled  up  from  her  slipper-tips 
along  the  childish  figure  to  the  adorable  face,  and 
suddenly  he  stood  erect  and  confused.  "  Mademoi 
selle  !  "  he  stammered,  "I  —  pardon  me  — 

She  smiled,  and  reached  out  her  hand  as  a  friend 
might.  He  touched  but  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and 
looked  at  her. 

"  Pardon  you  that  you  served  me  last  night,  and 
that  you  so  kindly  come  to  ask  after  me  to-day,  mon 
sieur?"  she  said,  teasingly.  "  Do  you  think,  then, 
that  you  committed  a  fault  when  you  smothered 
those  flames  ?  But  pray  be  seated  ;  and  though  you 
have  answered  neither  of  my  other  questions,  I  am 


118  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

going  to  ask  another.  Why  do  you  call  me  both 
Madame  Villette  and  mademoiselle  ? " 

"  Because,  mademoiselle  — ' 

"  Nay  —  madame." 

"  Madame  ?  " 

Was  the  handsome  stranger  mad?  She  was 
really  startled  at  his  wild  eyes  and  sharp  tones. 

"Madame  —  yes,  certainly,"  she  answered,  with  a 
certain  soothing  intonation.  "  Had  you  forgotten  ? 
It  is  so  easy  for  a  stranger  to  forget  titles  where  he 
meets  many  new  faces ;  and  then,  again,  there  are 
those  who  think  they  compliment  by  calling  a  lady 
mademoiselle.  Perhaps  when  my  hair  grows  gray  I 
too  will  want  to  hear  it ;  but  just  yet  I  am  madame." 

Madame !  Constante  looked  at  her  stupidly.  He 
wondered  if  he  had  been  drunk  or  crazy  last  night 
that  he  had  muddled  things  so,  or  interpreted  them 
wrongly.  Madame !  Then  she  was  a  wife  —  some 
man's  wife !  For  one  instant  he  felt  that  the  floor 
was  slipping  from  under  his  chair.  Then  with  an 
effort  he  spoke,  and  kept  his  voice  steady : 

"  It  is  unpardonable  of  me  to  have  forgotten  any 
thing  concerning  you,  madame,  but  your  good  heart 
has  divined  the  cause  of  my  mistake.  I  fancied 
you  were  mademoiselle,  and  your  relative  madame." 

"You  are  correct  only  in  her  case.  She  is  also 
madame,  or  senora,  and  a  widow.  I  see  you  pay 
attention  to  that  painting  of  her.  As  an  artist,  you 
of  course  are  critical,  and  we  can  show  you  few 
treasures  except  some  pieces,  curious  only  because  of 
their  age ;  but  my  aunt  tells  me  we  may  hope  now 
to  have  some  worthy  work  for  our  church  since  you 


THE   NEXT    MORNING.  119 

have  come.     The  news  is   welcome.     And  do  you 
paint  portraits  too?  " 

Paint  portraits!  Ah,  that  dreamed-of  Madonna 
with  her  eyes !  She  madame  —  a  man's  wife  ?  Then 
he  bowed  low  and  found  his  voice. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  gracious  to  me,  madame, 
that  you  show  interest  in  my  work.  Yes,  I  have 
painted  portraits,  and  hope  to  begin  again  on  your 
shores.  The  lady  — mad'ame,  your  aunt  — gave  me 
permission  to  call  to-day  and  hold  converse  with  her 
concerning  works  of  art.  My  enthusiasm  must  be 
my  excuse  for  so  early  a  visit." 

"  Your  enthusiasm  for  art  ?  " 

Almost  his  eyes  betrayed  him,  as  he  felt  they 
must  have  betrayed  him  there  in  the  room  of  the 
palms  last  night.  And  she  a  wife!  It  would  not  have 
been  the  first  wife  to  whom  Master  Constante  had 
uttered  love-vows  with  as  little  provocation— and  she 
was  so  alluring  with  the  color  and  perfume  of  yel 
low  roses  about  her ;  but  the  confusion  of  her  reve 
lations  was  yet  over  him,  and  his  eyes  avoided  hers. 

u  Yes,  madame  ;  even  a  wandering  artist  must  have 
some  ideal  that  serves  as  an  anchor  —  a  mistress  to 
whom  he  swears  fealty  ;  and  art  is  gracious  enough 
to  accept  all  devotion." 

"  But  art  draws  to  herself  so  much  that  we  miss 
in  the  more  human  world  —  as  a  mistress  she  is 
to  be  envied." 

"  Nay,  nay,  madame  ;  she  but  soothes  the  discarded 
hearts,  and  recompenses  them  for  the  floutings  of 
the  world.  She  accepts  so  many  who  would  find  no 
welcome  in  a  lady's  bower." 


120  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  softly  closing  eyes  and  a 
mutinous  moue.  A  most  eloquent  glance  for  a  wife 
to  give,  thought  poor  Constante.  Alas  for  his 
Madonna ! 

u  And  your  friend,  Chevalier  Delogne,  is  he  also 
devoted  to  art,  and  thus  self-exiled  from  converse 
with  us  poor  ordinary  mortals  ?  I  trust  myself  to 
say  '  no '  to  that,  for  he  was  not  too  far  in  the  clouds 
to  know  us  all  last  night  —  and  even  remember  our 
names." 

"Madame,  what  better  excuse  would  a  man  need 
for  hearing  nothing  —  remembering  nothing  — of 
the  world  about  him  than  that  he  had  once  looked 
upon  your  face  ?  " 

"  Very  pretty  — very  pretty  indeed,  Monsieur 
Raynel.  Would  the  fine  ladies  of  Versailles  pardon 
forgetfulness  for  a  speech  like  that  ? " 

"  Surely ;  especially  if  their  own  hearts  told  them 
they  had  not  been  forgotten  —  that  it  was  only  the 
light  of  their  eyes  that  had  banished  from  one's 
memory  all  titles,  or  conventional  bonds  of  the 
world.  You  are  pleased  to  be  very  unforgiving  to 
me,  madame." 

Ninon  thought  him  handsome  enough  to  be 
granted  absolution  for  any  crime.  A  winning  face 
is  a  wordless  voucher  for  merit  —  to  most  women. 
But  she  only  smiled  and  gathered  her  scarf  about  her. 
"  Come,  monsieur.  On  the  subject  of  art  or  of  mem 
ory,  we  do  not  seem  to  agree  very  well.  Perhaps  on 
the  safer  one  of  flowers  we  may  comprehend  each 
other  better.  The  gardens  of  Orleans  may  seem 
novel  to  a  stranger.  Will  you  walk  in  ours  ? " 


THE   NEXT    MORNING.  121 

Would  Adam  walk  through  Eden  at  Eve's  call  on 
that  first  day  of  her  creation  ?  And  Constante  fol 
lowed  quite  as  willingly,  but  wishing  vainly  that  some 
one  would  appear  an  instant  and  call  her  clearly  by 
name  and  then  take  himself  away  again  imme 
diately  ;  for  try  as  he  would  he  could  not  settle  in  his 
mind  her  station  and  that  of  her  aunt.  One  was 
senora  and  one  was  madame,  it  appeared  ;  one  was 
a  widow  and  one  was  a  female  Croesus.  But  either 
Villeneuve  or  his  own  stupidity  had  confused  him 
much,  but  he  dare  not  expose  himself  to  her  raillery 
by  further  questioning ;  and  he  had  not  yet  heard 
any  mention  made  of  "  monsieur." 

And  how  gay  she  was ;  seemingly  care-free  as  the 
birds  among  the  magnolia-boughs.  A  wife  —  he 
had  seen  no  wives  like  her ;  so  girlish,  so  alluring, 
yet  with  so  much  of  provoking  innocence  in  her 
eyes.  Should  he  ever  be  able  to  paint  all  that  ? 

"  This  side  of  the  rose-walk  is  the  special  province 
of  my  aunt,"  she  remarked,  smilingly ;  "  of  course 
you  will  want  to  become  acquainted  with  that." 

"  Most  assuredly  —  some  day  when  its  chatelaine 
is  gracious   enough   to   conduct   me;    but   is  there 
never  a  bower  of  your  own  in  all  this  glow  of  color 
-  or  am  I  for  my  sins  forbidden  entrance  to  it  ? " 

"  Have  you  sins?"  she  asked,  unbelievingly;  "if 
so,  of  course  I  shall  find  you  a  retreat  for  prayer. 
Come  ;  it  is  where  I  used  to  go  when  I  was  naughty 
and  had  been  told  to  spend  an  hour  in  thoughts  of 
penitence." 

"Is  it  so?  Then  rather  let  us  seek  a  place  less 
sanctified.  You  went  there  for  prayer,  but  I,  alas ! 


122  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

must  confess  that  the  sins  oftenest  to  my  charge  are 
those  of  which  I  can  not  repent,  and  such  a  soul  can 
hope  for  little  grace." 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  are  you  then  serious  ?  But  if  you 
would  but  try  to  repent,  if  you  would  but  say  you 
were  sorry,  surely  absolution  would  be  granted  you." 
And  the  hypocrite  felt  a  wild  temptation  to  cover 
her  hands  with  kisses  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  but 
he  shook  his  head. 

"  Nay,  madame,  I  fear  not ;  for  only  this  morning 
I  begged  pardon  for  an  unwilling  offense  —  begged 
with  both  heart  and  lips,  but  my  confessor  gave  me 
no  hope  of  forgiveness." 

Ninon  looked  incredulous,  yet  full  of  sympathy 
for  his  sorrow. 

"  But  what  a  hard  heart  to  turn  you  away  hope 
less.  Was  the  offense  then  so  grievous? " 

"  Most  grievous." 

"  Yet  if  you  repent  — 

"  So  I  hoped,  madame  ;  but  she  — " 

"  She  ? " 

"The  lady  who  thought  me  unpardonable  —  the 
lady  whose  name  I  had  forgotten." 

Fairly  caught,  Madame  Ninon  laughed  aloud  - 
laughter  filled  with  the  music  of  the  universe  to 
Constante  ;  but  the  merry  sound  reached  other  ears 
than  his,  for  a  window  opened  near  them,  and  through 
the  lattice  the  visitor  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white- 
draped  figure  of  ample  proportions  and  heard  a  voice. 

".Madame  Villette  ! "  it  demanded,  as  from  some 
one  within  — "  Madame  Ninon  Villette  laughing 
like  that  out  there  in  the  garden  and  entertaining 


THE   NEXT    MORNING.  123 

gentlemen  ere  people  of  quality  have  yet  had  coffee 
or  prayers  !  Give  me  my  gown  this  moment,  Pep- 
ito  !  What !— you  can't  find  it  ?  That  is  some  of  that 
Venda's  work.  I  doubt  if  we  shall  find  aught  for  a 
good  seven  days  after  her  departure  —  the  beast! 
Come  now — move  quickly!  I  will  see  this  gay 
gallant  who  laughs  under  my  windows,  so  — 

Her  kinswoman  did  not  wait  for  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  sentence,  but  beckoning  to  Monsieur 
Raynel  she  sped  through  the  arches  of  shrubbery 
and  perfume  of  roses  until  they  reached  a  little  gate 
at  the  side  of  the  garden,  and  halted,  flushed  and 
breathless,  listening  for  pursuing  footsteps  as  a 
naughty  child  who  feared  punishment. 

"  Sometime  when  the  day  has  grown  older,  mon 
sieur,  I  beg  that  you  will  return  to  talk  of  art  and  its 
charms  to  my  respected  aunt;  but  if  you  come 
earlier  than  noon  I  warn  you  that  for  a  full  hour 
you  will  have  only  myself  (only,  oh,  Ninon  !)  to  talk 
to,  and  it  seems  we  do  not  agree  well.  So  I  dismiss 
you  most  abruptly,  lest  you  have  to  take  your  share 
of  a  scolding,  and  art  might  be  the  loser.  Adios  ! 
I  will  see  you  again  when  you  come  to  paint  the 
portrait  of  Senora  Zanalta." 

Surely  this  was  a  most  intimate  parting  for  two 
people  who  did  not  agree  well.  It  was  so  sweetly 
puzzling  to  Raynel  that  the  pleasure  of  it  brought  a 
pain  in  its  wake  —  she  was  a  wife  ! 

He  looked  at  her  with  curious  scrutiny  in  his  eyes. 
She  was  so  much  engaged  in  listening  that  she  did 
not  note  it.  It  was  all  so  delightful  to  her  —  a  real 
adventure ;  and  the  handsome  fellow  was  plainly 


124  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

loath  to  leave  her.  She  was  smiling  at  the  certainty 
of  it,  when  he  spoke  : 

"If  I  might  hope  to  do  your  face  as  well, 
madame?  " 

"Mine  —  my  portrait?  Well,  perhaps.  Yes,  I 
think  my  brother  would  like  it ;  we  shall  see." 

"  I  am  grateful."  But  his  voice  despite  his  thanks 
had  a  certain  hardness  and  directness  as  he  looked 
at  her.  It  was  preposterous  of  course,  but  he  could 
not  endure  uncertainty  any  longer.  "  And  would 
monsieur  also  care  for  one  ?  Shall  I  meet  him  ?  I 
think  I  have  not  yet  had  that  honor." 

"  Monsieur — ?" 

"  Pardon  me  —  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dicu  !  "  And  she  made  a  little  quick  sign  of 
the  cross.  "  Monsieur  Villette  !  Yes,  I  truly  hope 
you  and  he  will  some  day  meet.  It  would  be  well 
for  you,  as  he  was  always  a  good  man." 

"Was?" 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur  Raynel ;  and  in  Paradise, 
where  one  lives  with  angels  instead  of  poor  human 
creatures,  he  is  surely  no  less  excellent." 

"  Paradise !"-  — and  all  the  green  garden  swam 
before  Constante's  eyes.  "  Oh,  madame,  pardon  me ! 
You  will  think  me  a  heartless  animal." 

"Not  at  all"  —and  Madame  Ninon's  eyes  had  a 
twinkle  in  them  not  brought  there  by  the  memory 
of  that  soul  in  the  celestial  regions  —  "  only  a  man 
who  is  curious  — 

"  Madame ! " 

"  My  aunt  is  coming !     Adios,  Monsieur  Raynel." 


DENISE    OF   THE   CONVENT.  125 

CHAPTER  VII. 

DENISE   OF  THE   CONVENT. 

AFTER  the  noon  hour  many  people  were  astir  in 
the  streets  that  day.  It  was  a  holiday,  and  the 
Creoles,  eager  as  children,  never  missed  a  day  of 
leisure  or  of  merrymaking.  Gay-turbaned  negresses 
rustled  their  "  bettermost  "  petticoats  for  the  admira 
tion  of  their  kind,  and  down  by  the  river  where  the 
trees  grew  they  gathered  and  gathered  toward  the 
sun's  sinking,  waiting  for'  the  cool  when  the  music 
would  come  for  their  dancing  under  the  stars  — 
their  music,  in  which  there  never  was  blended  the 
sound  of  a  drum.  That  instrument  had  for  so  long 
been  the  signal  by  which  the  masters  warned  each 
other  of  an  uprising  among  their  blacks,  that  it  was 
never  used  in  their  merrymakings ;  the  deep,  thun 
derous  tones  had  too  often  borne  startling  messages 
to  the  hearts  in  the  black  lands,  messages  of  war 
and  devastation. 

Chevalier  Delogne  walked  again  on  the  street  by 
the  river,  finding  all  the  strange  new  life  most  inter 
esting,  but  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  Raynel,  who 
had  someway  drifted  into  other  channels  —  on  the 
alert  for  artistic  material,  supposed  his  friend. 

He  heard  his  name  spoken,  and  turning  found 
Don  Zanalta  at  his  elbow,  smiling  most  pleasantly. 

"  What,  Chevalier,  have  you  already  smelled  out 
the  corners  where  the  most  amusing  sport  may  be 


126  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

had  ?     You  make  quick  strides ;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
tame  beside  Paris." 

"  No  doubt."  And  the  stranger's  voice  took  on 
a  certain  curtness.  He  did  not  like  much  this 
powdered,  perfumed  Spaniard  with  the  affected  strut 
that  had  in  it  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  dandy,  or  of  a 
woman  who  is  vain.  But  his  eyes  had  in  them  no 
feminine  gentleness.  They  were  keen  and  alert  as 
they  noted  the  wild  whirls  of  the  colored  Creoles, 
especially  the  bare  cream-like  arms  of  one  of  the 
women  classed  among  the  "  brown  people." 

"Not  bad  — that,"  he  remarked,  appreciatively. 
"  Anything  darker  has  too  much  of  coarseness  in 
feature ;  but  those  yellow  ones  ape  all  the  fine 
manners  of  their  mistresses  —  that  is  what  makes 
them  so  amusing." 

"To  tell    the    truth,"   remarked    the    chevalier, 
"they  do  not  appear  to  me  in  the  least  amusing - 
their  eyes  look  to  me  pathetic  as  those  of  driven 
cattle." 

"  That  is  because  some  of  the  prettiest  are  look 
ing  at  you  sentimentally,"  laughed  the  other.  "  Oh, 
it  does  not  take  them  long  to  spy  out  a  face  and  figure 
like  yours.  I  assure  you,  you  will  not  have  to  sue 
for  favors." 

Maurice  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  He  had 
dropped  a  mask  worn  the  night  before,  perhaps 
thinking  to  fall  more  quickly  into  friendship  with 
youth  by  the  use  of  flattery  and  allusions  that 
would  prove  alluring  to  many  a  stranger  in  search 
of  adventure. 

"I  am  not  looking  for  favors,"  he  returned,  care- 


DENISE   OF  THE   CONVENT.  127 

lessly,  "  but  for  my  friend  Monsieur  Raynel.  He  is 
sure  to  be  where  music  sounds." 

"  I  saw  him  across  there  but  a  few  minutes  ago. 
He  had  a  pencil  and  paper  on  which  he  seemed  to 
be  fixing  the  outlines  of  those  three  red  men  who 
lean  against  the  wall,  but  never  sing  and  never 
dance  like  the  black  slaves.  In  truth  your  friend 
has  strange  fancies  to  picture  those  sullen  slave  men 
instead  of  the  bright  faces  of  the  brown  girls." 

"  Strange  fancies  —  yes,  many  a  one  ;  but  I  rather 
like  this  one  of  his,  for  those  Indian  men  make  a 
peculiar  picture  as  they  stand  there,  watching.  Does 
not  the  taller  belong  to  Monsieur  Lamort  ?  I  think  I 
remember  seeing  his  face  in  the  grounds  there  this 
morning." 

Don  Zanalta  laughed  shortly.  "  That  proves 
nothing,"  he  made  reply.  "  All  our  slaves  in  the  col 
ony  flock  to  the  door  of  Lamort  if  they  have  a 
grievance  to  moan  over  —  and  it  is  seldom  they 
have  not  a  pretense  of  one.  But  I  think  he  owns  no 
Indian  slaves,  for  he  has  been  trying  to  influence 
the  cabildo  to  set  free  all  the  red  men  yet  in  bond 
age.  However,  it  has  not  been  done." 

The  two  had  by  this  time  sauntered  to  a  seat, 
where  they  disposed  themselves,  and  Don  Zanalta 
tendered  his  snuff-box  to  the  young  man,  and  used 
it  freely  himself,  in  the  same  delicate,  dandified 
manner  peculiar  to  him.  Maurice  had  heard  him 
spoken  of  as  a  clever  and  subtle  mover  in  the  circle 
of  politics,  but  was  inclined  to  think  the  reputation 
very  easily  won  as  he  noted  his  little  affectations. 


128  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Yet  he  of  course  was  well  versed  in  knowledge  of 
the  new  land,  having  lived  there  so  many  years. 

"  And  why  set  the  red  slaves  free  and  not  the 
blacks?"  asked  the  stranger.  And  again  the  towns 
man  smiled  patiently. 

"  The  blacks  —  sacrc  !  No  one  has  dared  mention 
that  in  the  ears  of  the  governor.  It  would  mean 
revolution  —  no  less.  And  as  for  the  reds  —  well, 
there  are  not  many  of  them  now.  Strange  how 
they  die  out  in  captivity,  instead  of  increasing  like 
the  Africans.  Stranger  still  when  one  considers 
that  it  is  they  and  not  the  Africans  who  are  native 
here ;  so  it  can  not  be  the  climate  that  kills  them. 
But  they  die  nevertheless,  and  die  as  they  live  — 
silent,  amid  all  the  music.  And  Monsieur  Lamort 
has  unearthed  a  neglected  declaration  of  O'Reilly's 
that  said  the  inhabitants  of  Louisiana  must  prepare 
to  emancipate  the  red  slaves  —  the  natives  of  the 
soil." 

"  And  the  declaration  has  never  been  enforced,  or 
made  into  a  law?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  it  is  waiting  for  the  final  decision  of  the 
king,  and  his  royal  wisdom  has  not  yet  led  him  in 
the  direction  of  that  action." 

The  chevalier  glanced  at  him  quickly  to  see  if 
there  was  cynicism  in  the  face  as  well  as  the  words, 
but  could  perceive  none.  The  eyes  of  the  Spaniard 
were  roaming  idly  over  the  groups  already  dispers 
ing,  for  the  permit  of  the  slaves  seldom  allowed 
their  absence  after  nine  o'clock  —  only  the  free 
people  were  remaining. 

"  But   has   it   not   been    several   years   since   the 


DENISE    OF   THE    CONVENT.  129 

governor,  General  O'Reilly,  made  laws  for  the 
colony?  " 

Don  Zanalta  looked  surprised  at  the  stranger's 
persistence. 

"  Yes,  certainly  ;  twenty-five  years,  I  think  it  is  —  a 
lifetime  to  some  of  them.  But  do  you  too,  monsieur, 
intend  taking  up  the  study  of  the  slave  trade  ?  You 
will  find  it  irksome,  I  fear." 

"No;  but  if,  as  you  say,  Monsieur  Lamort  has 
business  with  such  questions,  I  shall  doubtless  hear 
more  of  them.  This  morning  we  agreed  that  I  am 
to  be  his  private  secretary." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  so  ?  Well,  well,  I  must  congrat 
ulate  you  on  having  fallen  in  with  so  good  a  general. 
A  wonderful  man  is  Victor  Lamort.  You  will 
doubtless  learn  much  from  him  ;  but  do  not  let  him 
teach  you  to  upset  the  slave  laws.  I,  for  one,  have 
trouble  enough  with  mine  now.  But  you  must  come 
to  my  house,  Chevalier.  A  member  of  Monsieur 
Lamort 's  household  is  always  welcome  to  us ;  and 
you,  believe  me,  my  young  friend,  are  welcome  for 
your  own  sake." 

Maurice  had  but  time  to  murmur  his  thanks  when 
Zanalta  arose  abruptly  and  stood  looking  across  the 
moving  people  to  one  figure  walking  alone  and 
quickly.  Following  his  glance,  the  young  man  felt 
his  heart  leap  as  he  saw  a  gray  gown  and  caught 
sight  of  a  white  sleeve. 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  wish  to  speak  to  some  one,"  said 
Zanalta,  and  walked  swiftly  across  the  little  open 
space.  There  was  more  of  decision  and  less  of 
affectation  in  his  gait,  and  he  was  going  to  speak  to 


9 


130  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

the  one  whom  Maurice  in  his  thoughts  called  St. 
Denise. 

She  raised  her  eyes  as  he  came  close,  and  looked 
quickly  around  as  if  to  turn  aside  ;  but  it  was  too 
late,  and  an  instant  afterward  he  was  bending  with 
head  uncovered  before  her. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  the  saints  are  at  last  kind  to 
me.  Do  you  know  I  have  watched  each  morning 
for  your  accustomed  visits  to  the  poor,  and  only 
to-day  did  I  learn  that  you  came  no  more  in  the 
morning?  But  you  must  not  go  alone  at  nightfall, 
my  child.  Let  me  carry  your  basket." 

u  Monsieur" —  and  the  voice  of  the  girl  was  tremu 
lous — ''monsieur,  perhaps  you  mean  to  be  kind, but 
I  have  not  come  out  at  nightfall  that  I  might  find 
some  one  to  carry  my  basket,  and  in  all  this  town 
there  is  none  that  will  molest  me,  so  I  need  no  cav 
alier.  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good-night." 

"  Nay,  nay,  child  ;  let  me  walk  beside  you,  at  least. 
It  is  not  seemly  that  a  maiden  should  venture  in 
this  quarter  alone." 

"  And  less  so  that  a  gentleman  of  rank  should 
escort  the  messenger  of  the  convent.  I  am  safe 
alone,  monsieur.  Pardon  the  plainness  of  my  words, 
but  I  am  much  distressed  that  you—  that  you  persist 
in  meeting  me  when  —  when  — 

"  When  you  have  said  '  no '  to  all  the  advantages 
offered  you.  Ah,  Mademoiselle  Denise  - 

"  I  beg  you,  sir —  no  more  !  "  And  her  eyes  were 
both  frightened  and  angry.  "  I  shall  never  again  walk 
alone  on  my  errands  if  no  hour  of  the  day  is  to  be 
sacred  from  these  persecutions.  By  what  right  — 


DENISE    OF   THE    CONVENT.  131 

"By  the  right  of  love,"  he  murmured;  "the 
strongest  right  —  the  greatest  force  the  world  knows, 
my  charming  saint  —  and  it  will  yet  draw  you  to 
meet  my  thoughts.  Ah  !  I  shall  claim  sweet  words 
from  you  some  day  for  the  smiles  you  deny  me 
to-night.  Come,  now —  " 

But  the  girl  had  caught  sight  of  a  face  in  the 
scattering  groups,  a  black  woman  whom  she  knew, 
and  she  slipped  quickly  to  her  side. 

"  Here,  Maum  Rosy,  carry  my  basket  and  walk 
with  me  to  the  Place  des  Invalides." 

"  Hi !  ma'm'zelle  ;  Rosy  —  him  got  go  home  this 
minute  —  him  got  - 

"Come  !  "  And  the  girl's  fingers  closed  over  the 
dark  arm  with  compelling  force.  "Adieu,  mon 
sieur!  And  she  swept  him  a  courtesy  with  a  mock 
ery  strange  in  one  of  the  gray  habit,  and  walked 
rapidly  away  with  the  protesting  Rosy.  To  Don 
Zanalta  nothing  was  left  but  to  return  her  bow 
courteously,  and  none  in  passing  would  have  guessed 
the  small  drama  enacted  there  before  them  all. 

Only  the  Chevalier  Delogne  stood  apart  and  noted 
the  brief  pantomime.  He  envied  Zanalta  the 
acquaintance  permitting  him  to  halt  and  speak  to 
her  in  an  evidently  confidential  manner ;  but  that 
mocking  bow  puzzled  him. 

He  was  still  standing  there  when  the  Don  saun 
tered  back,  looking  serene  and  unruffled. 

"A  charming  child,  that,"  he  remarked,  with  a 
gesture  in  the  direction  he  had  just  come.  "Too 
bad  that  her  popularity  won  by  charity  and  good 
works  is  having  a  frivolous  influence  over  her.  It  is 


132  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

never  well  for  a  community  to  let  any  one  creature 
fancy  himself  a  necessity." 

"  But  she  seems  to  be  really  so  to  those  poor  folk 
by  the  shore." 

"You  know  her,  then,  already?"  asked  Zanalta, 
slowly,  and  eying  him  with  a  glance  that  was  sud 
denly  guarded.  "  You  know  this  Mademoiselle 
Denise?  " 

"  I  know  her  name  and  face,  monsieur,  and  from 
a  crippled  sailor  we  heard  last  evening  a  hint  of  her 
virtues ;  but  I  have  not  the  honor  of  being  known 
by  the  lady." 

"  Lady  !  Well,  she  is  scarcely  given  that  title  ;  in 
fact  she  is  an  unclassed  sort  of  being  — a  protegee 
of  the  good  nuns,  and  intended,  I  believe,  for  their 
order.  Too  dull  a  fate  for  so  pretty  a  face,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  if  the  convent  is  one  of  the  gates  to  heaven. 
Is  not  the  world  called  to  give  its  best  to  God? 
What  fate  more  tranquil  than  the  life  she  would 
live  under  the  sisterhood  of  Mary." 

But,  quietly  as  he  spoke,  a  chivalrous  protest  arose 
in  his  breast  against  the  force  of  his  words.  So  fair, 
so  girlish  ;  and  the  cross  is  so  cold  on  young  hearts. 

Don  Zanalta  smiled  and  twirled  his  walking-stick 
jauntily. 

"  Very  wise  decision  if  made  by  a  graybeard,  my 
dear  Chevalier,  but  not  very  human  when  uttered  by 
lips  of  twenty-five.  Nay,  do  not  blush;  you  will 
outgrow  your  age,  and  haply  also  such  cold-blooded 
disposal  of  beauty." 

At  that  moment  a  man  approached  who  had  been 
standing  a  little  way  off  watching  those  two  for 


DENISE   OF   THE   CONVENT.  133 

several  minutes.  He  looked  like  a  sailor  as  to  dress, 
and  half  white,  half  Indian  as  to  race.  He  spoke 
Spanish,  and  said  : 

"  Pardon,  Don  Diego  Zanalta,  but  I  bear  a  mes 
sage  that  the  Sea  Gull  rests  among  the  willows 
to-night,  and  her  captain  asks  company  of  yourself 
and  friends."  There  was  the  slightest  sign  of  hesi 
tation  in  his  manner  as  he  glanced  at  Delogne. 

''Dolt!"  muttered  Zanalta,  drawing  the  man  a 
little  aside.  "  Why  speak  aloud  until  you  know 
who  listens?" 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  When  the 
words  of  France  are  spoken  by  these  people  who 
pass,  he  opens  his  ears  and  smiles ;  when  Spanish  is 
spoken,  he  is  in  the  dark  and  the  trail  is  lost.  I 
watched  him  ;  I  know." 

"  When  did  Rochelle  come  back  from  the  Ala- 
bamas?" 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  touched  the  face  of  the 
half-breed. 

"  This  day  ere  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  sea." 

"  And  goes  when  ?  " 

"Who  knows?"  returned  the  other  with  indiffer 
ence.  "  Maybe  this  night,  maybe  next  year.  Have 
you  a  message?  " 

"Yes."  But  he  looked  disturbed,  and  hesitated. 
"  To-night  of  all  nights  ;  it  is  most  unfortunate  —  this 
coincidence.  Yet  must  I  see  Rochelle.  He  is  as 
whimsical  as  royalty  itself,  and  —  yes,  I  must  see  him. 
An  hour  late  perhaps,  because  of  this  other ;  but 
Gourfi  can  keep  her  guarded  till  my  return.  It  is 
the  best  I  can  do."  Then  from  these  ruminations 


134  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

he  aroused  himself  to  look  at  the  waiting  half-breed. 
"  Say  yes.  I  may  not  be  early,  but  I  will  be  there. 
"You  comprehend  ?  " 

The  man  replied  by  the  slightest  inclination  of 
his  head  and  a  lazy  droop  of  lids  over  his  watchful 
Indian  eyes.  Whoever  he  served  had  not  taught 
him  to  be  servile. 

"  One  would  think  I  held  audience  on  the  street 
Bienville,  since  even  my  moments  of  rest  must  be 
distracted  here  by  business,"  Zanalta  remarked  in 
an  apologetic  way,  turning  to  Delogne.  "  And  have 
you  not  yet  discovered  Monsieur  Raynel?" 

"  I  think  I  see  him  now,  and  coming  this  way." 

"  Then  I  shall  feel  the  less  regret  at  leaving  you, 
Chevalier,  when  I  see  you  with  as  merry  a  com 
panion  as  your  friend,  and  I  have  some  matters  that 
need  attention  this  evening  ;  so,  adios." 

"Ah,  there  you  are!"  called  Constante,  and  in  a 
moment  was  bowing  to  Zanalta.  "  What,  monsieur, 
do  you  withdraw  at  my  approach  ?  " 

11  To  my  regret,"  responded  the  older  man.  "  My 
time  is  limited  this  evening;  but  there  will  be 
others  with  better  fortune  for  me,  no  doubt,  and 
on  the  earliest  night  at  your  convenience  I  should 
be  pleased  if  you  would  dine  at  my  house,  gen 
tlemen." 

"  You  are  kind,"  began  Delogne  ;  but  Zanalta 
checked  him  with  a  gesture  and  a  smile. 

"  Kind !—  say,  rather,  lonely.  And  the  ladies  will 
also  be  glad  of  your  coming,  I  promise  you.  My 
sister-in-law  is  already  much  interested  in  the  art 
work  Monsieur  Raynel  is  to  produce  here.  I  shall 


DENISE   OF   THE   CONVENT.  135 

give  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  you  to 
morrow." 

They  exchanged  bows,  and  he  was  about  to  turn 
away,  when  Constante  seemed  to  recall  another 
cause  for  delay. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  just  a  moment  of  your  time. 
Pray  tell  me  who  one  Capitaine  Rochelle  of  the  Sea 
Gull  is  ;  I  am  curious  regarding  that  character." 

Diego  Zanalta  wheeled  about  and  gave  him  a 
look  as  though  demanding  whether  the  question 
was  prompted  by  insolence  or  ignorance,  then  smiled 
in  a  hard  way  that  was  half-mocking. 

"  I  regret  that  I  am  unable  to  satisfy  your  curi 
osity  on  this  point,  monsieur,  but  unfortunately  my 
acquaintance  does  not  embrace  every  smuggler  and 
night-sailing  vessel  on  our  waters.  In  fact  it  would 
take  a  man  with  no  other  employment  to  keep 
informed  on  those  troublesome  points,  and  as  a 
newcomer  I  should  not  advise  you  to  become 
entangled  with  their  mysteries.  Again,  buenas 
HOC  lies!  " 

Constante  stared  after  him  with  wide  eyes,  and 
then  whistled  in  a  manner  lacking  dignity. 

"  What  think  you  of  that  speech,  Maurice  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Why  should  I  ?  You  have,  it  appears, 
made  inquiry  of  some  one  whom  gentlemen  are  not 
supposed  to  know.  You  have,  as  oft  before,  been 
indiscreet,  and  Don  Zanalta  resents  it.  However, 
he  will  learn  ere  long  not  to  lay  so  much  stress  on 
your  words.  But  who  is  this  debatable  one  of  whom 
you  speak?" 

" Rochelle?    Oh,  I  have  been  talking  to  some  old 


136  A   FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

sailors  who  sprawl  across  the  green  over  there. 
They  were  telling  me  wonderful  things  of  sea  and 
land  about  here  (while  I  paid  for  their  wine),  and 
among  other  things,  of  the  Sea  Gull,  a  little  vessel, 
seemingly  English,  that  appears  like  a  phantom  to 
the  superstitious  ;  never  lays  in  known  harbors,  yet 
is  seen  fitfully  on  the  waters ;  is  supposed  to  deal 
in  wine,  but  none  knows  its  customers ;  is  said  to 
have  an  Indian  crew,  yet  its  commander  is  a  white 
man.  Some  think  him  the  prince  of  evil  because 
of  his  various  knowledge.  One  man  there  swore  to 
his  conviction  that  he  was  Bowles,  the  white  chief 
of  the  Creek  Nation  —  Bowles  who  was  also  an  actor, 
an  artist,  an  American  tory,  an  ex-British  officer, 
and  the  commander  of  a  piratical  crew  which  had 
proven  most  disastrous  to  American  and  Spanish 
stores." 

"  But  how  could  it  be  this  many-sided  Bowles 
when  the  Spanish  authorities  had  secured  him 
through  some  of  his  treacherous  followers,  and  even 
now  he  is  captive  in  the  castle  at  Havana ;  and 
indeed  did  we  not  hear  of  late  that  he  had  died 
there  —  a  prisoner  ? " 

"True  enough,  but  there  are  those  about  who 
seem  to  think  that  that  many-sided  adventurer  was 
something  supernatural ;  and  just  as  he  disappeared 
from  these  shores  there  came  this  other  one,  who  is 
just  as  strange,  from  the  description  they  give  of 
him — a  man  who  handles  the  cards  as  though  the 
devil  marked  the  winning  ones  for  his  hands,  a  man 
whom  no  one  has  seen  in  the  daylight,  and  who 
makes  music  on  a  viol  as  though  the  angels  taught 


DENISE   OF  THE   CONVENT.  137 

him.  He  also  can  speak  as  the  red  men  speak  ;  but 
the  one  difference  between  him  and  Bowles  is  that  no 
one  can  tell  of  actual  crime  he  has  done,  therefore 
he  is  not  called  for  by  the  law.  But  his  mysterious 
coming1  and  going  can  not  have  an  innocent  mean 
ing  ;  and  the  folk  here  just  think  he  is  the  devil  — 
the  devil  who  was  Bowles  and  is  now  Rochelle." 

"  By  our  fortune,  now,  but  you  seem  to  have  been 
studying  very  closely  the  history  of  New  World 
adventurers  the  past  couple  of  hours ;  no  wonder 
Don  Zanalta  was  not  flattered  by  your  question. 
And  what  for  this  evening,  Constante  —  to  the  cafe  ? 
Our  days  together  will  be  few  now,  as  I  am  prom 
ised  to  Monsieur  Lamort  for  a  season,  so  we  must 
make  the  best  of  our  time." 

"  We  can  not  do  that  in  the  crowd  of  the  cafe. 
No,  let  us  stroll  —  so  !  I  am  too  restless  for  a  seat 
at  a  table.  I  want  to  move  —  to  walk  —  to  fly  if  I 
could  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  when  you  take  flight  you  will 
leave  your  intended  address,  no  doubt.  Could  it  by 
any  chance  be  the  house  of  the  gentleman  who  just 
left  us?" 

"  How  did  you  come  to  guess  that  house  ? "  de 
manded  Constante  ;  and  Delogne  smiled  at  the  half- 
assent  in  the  words. 

"  How  ?  My  friend,  do  you  forget  that  you  passed 
all  the  evening  at  her  side  —  that  she  was  the  only 
lady  you  noticed  ?  Whatever  the  rest  of  the  assem 
bly  thought,  I  was  convinced  that  you  were  at  last 
serious  and  had  concluded  to  be  no  longer  a  mere 
poacher  in  the  field  of  love." 


138  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Constante  stared  at  his  friend  as  though  mystified, 
and  then  smiled  in  a  forced,  half-hearted  way. 

"  Oh,  you  thought  so,  did  you  ?  And  the  lady 
—  tell  me  what  you  think,  now,  for  the  one  who 
looks  on  sees  best  how  the  game  goes,  you  know  — 
think  you  she  will  approve  —  will  — " 

"  Approve !  Certainly,  Constante,  you  are  grow 
ing  modest  when  you  doubt  your  own  attractions. 
I  venture  to  say  she  is  ready  to  say  yes  to  you  in 
less  than  a  fortnight.  Does  that  not  cheer  you  ?  " 

''Immeasurably,"  groaned  Constante.  "Oh,  but 
you  are  a  helpful  friend  to  cheer  a  poor  devil  when 
he  is  in  trouble." 

"  Trouble  !  You  surprise  me  !  But  of  course  they 
are  heart  troubles  —  the  only  kind  you  ever  have. 
But  if  it  is  not  that  comfortable  Donna  Zanalta, 
then  you  will  have  to  confess,  for  I  have  not  been 
observing  you  closely  for  the  past  few  hours,  and  am 
ignorant  of  the  latest.  Pray  whose  wife  have  you 
been  swearing  devotion  to  now?" 

"  Maurice,  I  beg  you  not  to  walk  brutally  over  my 
feelings  in  that  fashion  !  I  was  going  to  confide  in 
you,  but  I  will  reconsider  the  subject  until  you  are 
in  a  more  sympathetic  mood  —  and  I'll  repay  you," 
he  added,  maliciously,  "by  telling  you  the  other 
ninety-nine  theories  I  heard  about  Monsieur  Ro- 
chelle  and  the  Sea  Gull." 

Delogne  suddenly  contracted  his  brows  and  made 
a  gesture  to  his  friend  for  silence.  He  was  trying  to 
think  what  other  voice  had  uttered  that  name,  the 
Sea  Gull,  in  his  hearing.  Not  the  voice  of  Con 
stante,  but  a  lazy,  yet  melodious,  voice  —  a  voice  with 


DENTSE    OF   THE   CONVENT.  139 

certain  peculiar  intonations  —  the  voice  of  the  half- 
Indian  who  spoke  Spanish. 

"  Well,"  demanded  his  friend,  u  I  beg"  permission  to 
speak  when  your  disposition  will  warrant  it." 

"  Constante,  have  you  observed  that  small  as  this 
colony  is,  it  contains  several  problems  to  test  our 
wit?" 

"  Ah  !  have  I  not  ?  One  alone  have  I  found  that  I 
will  joyously  devote  my  life  to  solve." 

The  dusk  had  fallen  —  the  odorous  darkness  of  the 
South-lands.  The  stars  were  out  here  and  there  in 
the  warm  sky,  but  clouds  scurrying  up  from  the  sea 
effaced  their  glitterings ;  and  the  unlighted  street 
was  very  shadowy,  save  at  times  when  a  sedan- 
chair  with  a  lantern  on  its  poles  would  be  borne  by 
trotting  negroes  across  the  avenues,  and  they,  few 
and  far  between,  looked  liks  fireflies. 

Afar  off,  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  sounded  the 
strings  of  a  guitar  —  sweet  tones  of  the  South  and  of 
night.  Slave-voices  sang  somewhere  in  the  dark 
where  boats  were  moored,  and  the  sounds  blended 
harmoniously  with  the  warm  wind  under  the  stars. 

The  two  friends  halted,  and  smiled  into  each  other's 
eyes,  and  by  silent  mutual  consent  leaned  against  an 
old  live-oak  and  listened.  The  new  land,  with  its 
music  and  strange  shadings,  its  adventurers  and 
grande  seigneurs,  and  withal  its  remoteness,  was  as  a 
land  of  romance  to  each. 

Standing  there  so,  without  words,  they  listened  to 
the  charming  sounds  of  the  night,  and  noted  the 
approach  of  a  small  chattering  black  boy  and  the 
gowned  form  of  a  priest,  who  passed  within  arm's- 


140  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

reach  of  the  two  in  the  shadows,  yet  evidently  did 
not  see  them,  intent  no  doubt  on  some  soul  near 
death  or  in  sore  sickness  toward  whom  he  was 
hastening. 

"  That  monk  is  but  a  part  of  the  picture,"  remarked 
Constante.  "  How  well  he  fits  into  this  scheme  of 
starlight,  and  far  soft  music.  He  brings  me  fancies 
of  a  possible  senorita  under  a  rose-trellis,  and  a  pos 
sible  Fra  Lippo  hastening  to  a  tryst  there." 

"  It  requires  but  little  to  start  your  fancies  in  that 
direction  ;  but  have  you  noticed  where  we  are  ?  I 
did  not  until  now ;  this  is  surely  one  side  of  the 
grounds  belonging  to  Monsieur  Lamort's  dwelling. 
You  see  it  touches  three  streets." 

"  And  a  very  snug  abode  for  this  land  of  the  sav 
age  people.  Ah,  that  palm-room!  No  wonder  my 
fancies  turn  readily  to  trysts  here.  The  very  atmos 
phere  suggests  adventure." 

"  Hist !  look  at  that!  " 

"  That "  was  a  form  approaching,  but  not  in  the 
frank  manner  of  the  priest.  It  was  slipping  along 
in  the  shadows,  and  halting  every  now  and  then  to 
look  backward,  as  though  waiting  for  some  one.  As 
it  came  nearer,  yet  without  sound,  they  perceived 
it  was  some  one  barefooted,  therefore  a  negro  ;  and 
the  stealthy  manner  of  the  man  made  the  two  in  the 
shadow  fairly  hold  their  breath  that  they  might  dis 
cover  what  purpose  he  had  in  view  —  theft,  perhaps, 
as  he  was  approaching  the  dwelling  of  Monsieur 
Lamort  in  that  suspicious  manner. 

No  other  house  was  very  near ;  gardens  and 
empty  spaces  lay  around ;  the  nearest  building  — 


DENISE   OF   THE   CONVENT.  141 

and  that  distant  —  was  the  place  of  the  nuns, 
where  a  light  glimmered  at  the  gate  ;  so  surely  it 
must  be  the  property  of  Monsieur  Lamort  on  which 
the  man  had  designs,  and  from  his  manner  he  was 
evidently  awaiting  a  comrade. 

They  were  quite  sure  of  this  fact  when  far  down 
the  street  another  form  was  seen  approaching,  walk 
ing  rapidly,  but  wearing  shoes  —  evidently  a  woman, 
or  else  a  man  wearing  a  long  black  cloak.  At  that 
distance  in  the  darkness  they  could  not  be  certain 
which  it  was,  but  one  thing  they  could  be  sure  of 
was  that  a  third  figure,  resembling  the  first,  and 
also  barefoot,  was  following  close  behind  ;  and  with 
every  moment  the  three  conspirators,  if  such  they 
were,  were  drawing  closer  together.  The  first  to 
arrive  stood  in  the  shadows,  awaiting  the  others. 

Three  little  notes  like  the  call  of  a  drowsy  night- 
bird  sounded  through  the  silence  from  where  he 
was,  and  the  two  strangers  in  the  darkness  by  the 
live-oak  felt  it  was  a  signal  to  the  others  that  he 
waited. 

But  only  the  one  who  came  last  seemed  to  heed  it, 
and  at  the  sound  his  stealthy  stride  changed  to  a  run. 
Because  of  his  bare  feet  he  made  no  noise,  and  he 
could  almost  touch  the  gowned  figure  when  that 
waiting  one  stepped  swiftly  from  the  shadows. 

Then  there  was  a  smothered  scream,  a  drapery 
quickly  flung  over  struggling  arms,  and  in  less  than 
half  a  minute  the  second  figure  was  but  a  shapeless 
bundle  of  dark  cloth,  being  borne  lightly  in  the 
arms  of  the  two  blacks,  who  fairly  ran  across  the 
street  and  directly  toward  the  live-oak  tree. 


142  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Get  to  boat,  quick  !  "  muttered  the  first  one,  who 
seemed  the  leader  in  the  affair ;  "  place  all  quiet 
now,  but  quick  !  " 

And  then  he  uttered  a  snarl  of  rage  as  he  was 
obliged  to  halt  in  the  midst  of  his  haste.  The  sword 
of  Chevalier  Delogne,  glittering  in  the  dim  star 
light,  barred  the  passage  of  the  blacks  and  their 
burden. 

"  Lay  down  that  person,  whoever  it  be  !  "  he  com 
manded. 

But  the  black  had  no  notion  of  obeying.  He 
caught  his  load  on  one  arm  and  with  the  other 
whipped  out  a  rapier,  with  which  he  lunged  forward 
blindly,  without  effect,  however,  for  his  bared  arm 
was  pierced  with  that  long  glittering  wand  of  steel, 
and  the  weapon  fell  from  his  useless  hand. 

At  the  same  moment  Constante,  though  wearing  no 
sword,  fell  on  the  other  black  with  his  cane,  to  such 
purpose  that  the  two  rogues,  seeing  a  second  cham 
pion  make  his  appearance,  concluded  they  had  run 
into  an  ambush,  and  throwing  their  motionless  bur 
den  at  the  feet  of  the  strangers  fled  into  the  shadows 
and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

The  Chevalier  sheathed  his  sword,  and  Constante 
picked  up  the  rapier. 

"If  the  blacks  of  the  country  carry  blades  like 
this  it  must  be  that  they  have  gold  in  their  purses, 
or  else  most  generous  masters,"  he  observed.  "  What 
say  you  now  of  adventure,  Maurice,  and  what  think 
you  we  will  find  in  this  wrapping  of  sail-cloth?" 

Maurice  did  not  reply  ;  he  was  on  his  knees  beside 
the  swathed  figure,  unwrapping  quickly  as  he  could 


DENISE   OF   THE   CONVENT.  143 

the  smothering  stuffs,  until  out  of  the  folds  a  limp 
white  hand  fell  upon  his  own. 

"A  lady,  Constante  !  Man  Dieu ! — my  heart 
told  me  so.  Quick  !  here,  unwind  this  as  I  lift  her. 
Heavens  !  it  is  she  —  and  she  is  dead  —  they  have 
smothered  her !  " 

But  Constante  was  the  wiser,  and  shook  his  head 
as  he  bent  over  her. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  she  will  live  to  see  her  own  grand 
children,  be  sure  of  it.  They  have  frightened  her 
into  unconsciousness,  and  small  wonder  —  but  it  is 
not  death." 

"  Then  come !  At  Moniseur  Lamort's  we  will 
find  help  for  her.  Ah  !  the  black  fiends,  to  touch 
you  —  you  !  " 

"  May  I  assist  ?  "  began  Constante ;  but  the  Cheva 
lier  made  no  reply,  only  arose  from  the  ground  with 
the  unconscious  form  in  his  arms,  and  bore  it  swiftly 
through  the  grounds  to  the  door  of  Monsieur  Lamort 
-an  open  door,  through  which  he  strode  without 
ceremony. 

A  slave  —  the  new  slave,  Venda  —  came  forward 
at  the  sound  of  feet  on  the  tiled  floor,  and  raised  her 
hands  with  a  gesture  of  wonder  at  the  sight  of  the 
young  stranger  bearing  a  lady  in  his  arms  ;  but  with 
ready  comprehension  she  led  the  way  to  a  couch. 

"  How  can  I  serve,  master?"  she  asked,  as  he  laid 
his  charge  on  the  soft  cushions.  "  Is  it  sickness  —  is 
it  hurt?" 

"A  fright  — that,  I  think,  is  all.  Care  for  her 
quickly  —  tell  your  master  —  ah!  do  anything  but 
let  her  lie  there  looking  like  death  !  " 


144  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Venda  called  for  a  black  girl  to  bring  water, 
another  to  bring  wine ;  and  in  the  midst  of  her 
work  of  chafing  the  girl's  hands  she  looked  up  at 
Chevalier  Delogne  with  a  look  of  comprehension  in 
her  seldom-smiling  eyes. 

"  You  drink  also  of  the  wine,"  she  nodded  —  "all 
your  face  white  like  lady's.  Lady  will  live  ;  its  heart 
beats  good  now.  Master  comes  ;  master  knows  medi 
cine —  him  tell  you." 

And  just  at  that  moment  Monsieur  Lamort  entered 
the  room,  drawing  back  at  first  when  he  saw 
strangers,  and  then  recognizing  Delogne  he  came 
forward,  with  surprise  and  interest  at  sight  of  the 
figure  on  the  couch. 

"  A  lady,  and  one  in  the  dress  of  a  nun ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Well  may  our  local  government  be 
called  faulty  when  such  a  one  dare  be  abducted  ere 
darkness  is  well  over  our  streets.  Venda,  you  know 
most  people  —  who  is  this  ?  " 

"  Master,  she  is  the  Convent  Child." 

"  But  there  are  many  children  under  the  care  of 
the  good  nuns,  and  they  all  have  names." 

Venda  bowed  her  head. 

"  All  have  names,"  she  agreed  ;  "  this  one  is  called 
Sister,  and  Denise,  and  the  old  people  call  her  the 
Convent  Child." 

Monsieur  Lamort's  eyes  were  bent  on  the  uncon 
scious  face  with  a  strange  baffled  expression,  as  one 
who  tries  to  recall  some  elusive  memory. 

"  A  most  lovely  maiden,"  was  all  he  said.  "  Care 
for  her  well,  Venda."  And  then  he  turned  to  speak  to 
the  gentlemen.  But  Chevalier  Delogne  was  walking 


DENTSE    OF   THE    CONVENT.  145 

to  and  fro  with  noticeable  anxiety,  casting  every 
now  and  then  a  look  toward  the  privileged  couch, 
and  scarce  seeming  to  see  the  host  or  think  of 
conversation. 

And  the  older  man  must  have  had  a  wondrous 
amount  of  comprehension  of  even  youth's  leanings, 
for  he  raised  his  brows  in  a  comical  way  and  met 
the  glance  of  Constante  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  well !  Jove  might  be  pardoned,  for  she  is  a 
wondrous  fair  maid,"  he  remarked  ;  "  and  now  tell 
me  how  it  occurred.  Have  you  anything  by  which 
you  could  identify  those  blacks?  " 

"  Not  I.  To  me  every  man  of  them  is  as  a  twin 
to  the  last  one  I  saw,  save  when  one  is  either  very 
large  or  very  small,  very  old  or  very  young." 

"  And  they  fled  —  whither  ?" 

"Across  your  grounds  and  toward  the  river. 
Now  I  remember  me,  they  said  4  to  the  boat.'  Faith  ! 
I  might  have  followed  them.  I  did  not  have  the 
lady  to  carry." 

The  lady  was  reviving  under  Venda's  hands,  and 
Monsieur  Lamort  drew  near  as  she  spoke. 

"  Ah !  those  wretches !  have  they  brought  me 
here  ?  You  are  his  slave  —  you  - 

Her  head  dropped  back  weakly,  and  Venda  gave 
her  a  little  wine  despite  her  shrinking  murmurs. 
Monsieur  Lamort  saw  she  was  still  frightened,  and 
spoke. 

"Those  wretches  you  fear  have  been  beaten  away 
by  these  gentlemen,"  he  explained.  "  Chevalier, 
will  you  come  forward  and  reassure  the  lady  ?  She 

seems  uncertain  as  to  the  hands  she  has  fallen  into." 
10 


146  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Maurice  did  so,  blushing-  with  pleasure  as  her  gaze 
rested  on  him,  and  seemed  to  say,  "  I  trust  you." 

"  Mademoiselle,  be  quite  sure  that  in  the  house  of 
Monsieur  Lamort  you  are  safe.  This  is  he.  He 
is  glad  to  serve  you,  as  are  we  all.  Can  you  but  give 
us  a  hint  as  to  who  your  enemy  is,  that  we  may 
punish  him?" 

She  turned  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  Venda.  "  You 

you,"  she  muttered,  unsteadily.  That  white-crowned 
head  seemed  to  hold  her  attention  closer  than  the 
others. 

"This  is  Venda,  my  slave,"  explained  Lamort. 
"  Do  not  be  afraid  ;  she  is  kind  of  heart." 

"  I  know,"  said  Denise,  more  clearly  ;  "but  she  is 
the  voudou  woman  —  she  is  the  slave  of  Don 
Zanalta." 

Her  voice  had  a  ring  of  accusation  ;  but  Monsieur 
Lamort  seemed  not  to  notice  it. 

"  No ;  until  yesterday  it  was  so,  but  now  she  is 
of  my  household,  and  is  at  your  service." 

She  breathed  a  little  sigh  of  content,  and  closed 
her  eyes  for  a  moment,  but  the  color  was  once  more 
creeping  into  her  lips. 

"  And  I  am  really  in  the  house  of  the  powerful 
Lamort?"  she  asked  at  last,  with  a  sort  of  childish 
pride.  "  How  strange  that  seems !  " 

"  Only  the  manner  of  your  coming  seems  strange 
to  me,"  answered  the  man  she  called  powerful. 
"  My  house  will  always  be  honored  on  the  days 
when  the  garb  of  your  order  enters  it,  mademoiselle. 
But  you  seem  to  know  every  one  and  his  calling 
here." 


DENISE   OF  THE   CONVENT.  147 

"  I  know  you,"  she  assented.  "  They  say  you  are 
pitiless  to  the  rich  in  the  court  of  law,  but  I  only 
know  you  as  one  who  is  good  to  the  sick,  and  who 
gives  money  to  the  convent  that  the  poor  may  be 
cared  for.  Ah!  monsieur,  I  have  divided  many 
loaves  among  the  infirm  —  loaves  paid  for  with  your 
gold.  You  are  in  our  prayers  often  ;  it  is  not  strange 
that  I  should  know  you." 

"Then  am  I  more  blest  than  I  dreamed  of,  my 
child."  And  he  bowed  as  to  a  princess,  and  touched 
her  fingers  with  his  lips,  an  act  that  sent  a  rosy  flush 
over  her  pale  face.  "  You  give  me  strength  to  with 
stand  all  the  thunderbolts  of  the  nobles  when  you 
speak  so  graciously  of  the  little  I  have  done  for  your 
poor." 

" Young  mistress  drink  more  wine  —  little  bit?" 
queried  Venda ;  but  the  girl  shook  her  head,  and 
her  eyes  passed  over  the  slave  and  rested  on  the 
two  younger  men. 

"  I  think  I  can  rise  now,  and  I  should  like  to  thank 
those  gentlemen,"  she  said,  shyly  ;  but  the  effort  to 
stand  was  ineffectual,  and  Monsieur  Lamort  gently 
reseated  her  among  the  cushions. 

"  Not  yet,  mademoiselle  —  one  does  not  get  over 
a  smothering  so  quickly  ;  and  as  for  these  gentlemen 
who  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  serve  you,  they 
are  quite  ready  to  receive  their  reward  — here  at 
your  feet." 

With  a  gesture  he  brought  them  nearer,  and 
Constante  bent  low  as  his  name  was  uttered. 

"  I  assure  you,  mademoiselle,  we  did  not  half 
enough  in  your  case.  I  should  at  least  have  brought 


148  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

you  those  slave-heads  on  a  salver.  I  have  not 
earned  a  kind  look  from  you.  I  was  not  allowed  to 
even  lift  you  from  the  ground.  It  was  my  comrade 
—  Chevalier  Delogne  —  whose  arm  and  sword  did 
you  service." 

"  You ! "  she  said,  and  looking  at  Maurice,  held 
out  her  hand ;  but  she  seemed  to  find  no  other 
words  for  him,  only  the  shy  proffer  of  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  thanked  him,  and  to  tell  the  truth  he 
looked  as  though  fully  recompensed  despite  her 
scant  words ;  but  to  Constante  she  could  speak  more 
freely. 

"  Nay,  monsieur,  I  am  sure  your  words  are  less 
valiant  than  your  deeds.  You  are  at  least  stanch 
to  your  friends,  and  though  I  have  known  few  gen 
tlemen,  I  am  convinced  that  such  men  are  always 
the  bravest  in  time  of  need.  You  came  at  my  need 
to-night,  and  I  thank  you  —  both." 

"If  you  could  only  give  us  some  clue  as  to  the 
enemy  who  would  do  you  harm,"  ventured  Mon 
sieur  Lamort. 

But  the  girl  raising  her  eyes  met  the  level  ques 
tioning  gaze  of  Venda.  The  face  of  that  slave 
seemed  to  disconcert  her  in  some  way,  and  she 
answered,  hurriedly: 

"  I  ?  —  an  enemy  !  Sir,  if  you  would  ask  of  all 
New  Orleans  who  would  harm  Denise,  the  answer 
would  be,  '  Not  one  of  us.' ' 

"Then  perhaps  some  stranger?"  suggested  De- 
logne.  "  Those  who  traffic  in  slaves  would  scarce 
hesitate  as  to  whom  they  would  kidnap.  Mademoi 
selle,  when  it  pleases  you  to  walk  again  after  night- 


DENISE    OF   THE    CONVENT.  149 

fall,  pray  let  us  know  ;   I  can  promise  you  at  least  a 
guard  of  two." 

"  Believe  me,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  in  evident 
distress  at  what  she  mistook  for  reproof,  "to-night's 
delay  was  an  unusual  accident,  and  even  now  the 
good  sisters  will  be  much  disturbed  at  my  absence  ; 
I  must  go." 

She  arose  with  more  determination,  and  despite 
Monsieur  Lamort's  entreaties  declared  she  was 
strong  enough  for  the  walk,  which  was  but  short. 

"  I  will  at  least  send  with  you  a  woman,  lest  you 
have  need  of  her,"  he  declared ;  "  and,  gentlemen, 
which  of  yoti  — 

"  If  mademoiselle  will  allow  me  the  privilege,  I 
will  gladly  be  her  escort,"  answered  Delogne  ;  4'  and 
Constante  — 

"  He  will  follow  after  to  see  that  you  return  —  that 
no  one  kidnaps  you  on  the  way  home,"  Constante 
amended ;  "  and,  by  the  way,  I've  just  had  a  fancy  as 
to  who  those  blacks  were  working  for.  Does  Mon 
sieur  Rochelle  of  the  Sea  Gull  add  the  kidnaping 
of  ladies  to  his  long  list  of  accomplishments?" 

"Nonsense!  Raynel.  We  have  made  mademoi 
selle  quite  nervous  enough  with  our  conjectures," 
warned  Delogne;  "  and,  after  all,  we  have  little  foun 
dation  to  go  on  —  how  could  we,  being  strangers? 
But  of  course  you  would  want  to  draw  your  latest 
enthusiasm  into  the  affair.  You  talked  of  him 
to-night  until  misfortune  was  brought  to  those  who 
walked  our  road  ;  so  I  beg  of  you  - 

Monsieur  Lamort  glanced  at  them  both,  and 
caught  the  careless  smile  on  the  face  of  Constante. 


150  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Rochelle  so  privileged  as  to  be 
among  your  friends,  then?"  he  inquired.  "If  so, 
you  surely  have  been  making  rapid  strides  in  your 
knowledge  of  the  New  World  and  the  people  who 
live  in  it." 

"  He  is  a  romancer,"  explained  the  chevalier,  "  and 
this  Rochelle  is  simply  the  latest  mystery  he  has 
stumbled  on.  The  things  one  does  not  know  about 
a  man  are  always  myterious  to  the  visionary." 

"  I  protest,  monsieur,  that  the  Capitaine  Rochelle 
is  mysterious  to  many  besides  this  gentleman," 
smiled  Denise.  "  I  confess  he  is  so  to  myself." 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,"  and  Constante's  hand  touched 
his  lip  and  breast  in  most  profound  obeisance,  "  I 
pledge  myself  your  faithful  servant  for  so  graciously 
coming  to  my  rescue.  Then  this  picturesque  char 
acter  is  interesting  also  to  you  ? " 

"  I  can  scarcely  say  that,  since  I  have  never  yet 
looked  on  him,  monsieur;  but  there  are  strange 
tales  told  of  his  doings,  and  I  have  liked  to  listen  to 
them." 

u  But  not  to-night,  I  beg  you,"  said  Monsieur 
Lamort,  with  a.  smile.  "  It  is  bad  enough  for  a 
lady's  nerves  that  she  begin  the  evening  with  kid 
napers,  but  to  finish  it  with  a  recital  of  wicked  old 
sea-kings  —  it  would  surely  prove  fatal  to  sleep ;  and 
when  I  call  to  inquire  after  you  to-morrow  I  hope 
to  hear  an  account  of  dreamless  rest." 

"  I  would  that  you  might  come,"  said  the  girl, 
simply,  "  that  our  good  abbess  might  thank  you  with 
more  fitting  words  than  I  can  use.  And  now  it 
grows  late,  gentlemen,  and  I  must  go.  Yes,  I  will 


THE    MAN    ROCHELLE.  151 

accept  also  the  service   of  the  black  woman,  mon 
sieur,  and  I  thank  you  —  I  thank  you." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   MAN    ROCHELLE. 

THOSE  drifting  clouds  had  been  wafted  westward 
by  a  persistent  wind  of  the  sea,  and  the  stars  twinkled 
unmolested  over  the  waters  where  the  reeds  grew, 
and  those  alluring  shadows  where  huge  alligators 
heaved  up  heavily  from  their  favorite  playground. 

No  moon  shone,  and  a  gloomy  magnificence 
seemed  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  night.  Afar  off  a 
twinkle  along  where  the  land  and  water  met  would 
show  keen  eyes  where  the  town  lay ;  but  out  there 
in  the  alleys  of  the  marshes  not  a  light  shone.  A 
ghostly  bird  drifted  low  over  the  reeds  at  times  and 
buried  itself  in  the  far  cypresses. 

Yet  a  schooner  lay  moored  there  in  a  lane  so  nar 
row  no  coastman  would  have  discovered  her.  The 
pilot  who  guided  her  over  that  water-path  must  have 
had  help  of  angels  —  or  of  devils ;  and  the  latter  were 
commonly  supposed  to  man  her,  for  it  was  the  Sea 
Gull. 

Everything  was  so  still  about  her  one  might  have 
fancied  her  a  phantom  vessel.  But  suddenly  two 
figures  appeared  on  deck,  and  the  taller  ordered  a 
boat  lowered. 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Do  you  go  back  to  shore  to-night?"  asked  the 
soft  French  voice  of  a  creole.  "  Ah,  my  Capitaine, 
you  are  ever  restless  when  so  near  the  shore  that 
you  live  on  both  land  and  water.  For  me  I  would 
rather  see  you  set  sail  from  this  country  once  more, 
and  let  us  linger  in  those  South  seas  where  the 
Spanish  and  Americans  need  never  make  us  weary 
with  their  clashings." 

"  Wait,  Robert ;  when  the  night  of  life  comes 
closer  we  will  have  a  chimney-corner  somewhere, 
and  a  good  bottle  ever  beside  it  — there  we  will  doze 
in  content,  but  not  to-night.  Does  that  prospect 
please  you?" 

"  Aye ;  but  the  flakes  of  snow  in  my  hair  are 
already  many,"  said  the  other,  ruefully.  «  You  will 
have  us  wait  and  wait  for  evening  in  this  world 
to  claim  our  rest,  but  ere  we  know  it  we  will  have 
reached  a  morning  in  another,  and  the  rest  will  have 
been  left  with  yesterday." 

The  other  laughed,  and  stretched  his  arms  as  a 
man  who  is  only  weary  of  inaction.  "  Chut !  Sup 
pose  now  you  were  called  to  a  battle,  eh  — how 
much  repose  would  you  halt  for  then  ?  No,  you 
only  play  your  infirmities  to  remind  me  of  my  own 
years  —  years,  bah !  I  feel  like  a  boy  again  when  I 
hear  the  kiss  of  these  waters  and  the  music  of  these 
reeds.  The  night  always  plays  the  devil  with  me  ; 
it  bewitches  some  people,  I  think.  When  I  was 
young,  darkness  on  the  water  made  me  ambitious  to 
do  one  of  three  things :  fight  the  English,  whom  I 
hated,  play  grand  music  such  as  I  had  never  heard, 
but  loved,  or — " 


THE    MAX    ROCHELLE.  153 

He  ceased  .speaking  and  watched  some  ripples  on 
the  water  made  by  some  unseen  sea-creature. 

"  Or  make  love  to  some  fair  senorita,  eh?  "  added 
the  other.  But  the  communicative  mood  appeared 
to  have  left  the  commander.  He  straightened -up 
and  looked  across  the  dim  vista  to  the  tiny  twinkles 
along  the  shore. 

"  You  have  never  been  a  lover,  Robert,  else  you 
would  know  love  makes  itself,"  he  answered  ;  and 
then  added,  abruptly,  "  Lower  the  boat ;  Nicholas 
will  take  me  across.  Weigh  anchor  an  hour  before 
day  breaks  —  all  will  be  aboard  by  then.  Make  no 
stop  until  the  Apalachees  are  reached." 

"  It  is  only  au  rcvoir,  Capitaine  ;  you  will  sail  with 
us  again  ?  " 

"It  is  always  '  only  au  rcvoir;  Robert.  An  hour, 
a  night,  a  lifetime,  and  we  are  together  again! 
So  until  we  meet  — 

Then  the  boat  dipped  with  a  splash  into  the  dark 
water,  and  the  capitaine  descended,  spoke  a  few 
words  to  a  wiry  dark  man  bearing  the  oars,  waved 
his  hand  to  his  mate,  and  dropped  full  length  on  the 
rug  of  skins  spread  in  the  stern,  his  face  turned  up 
toward  the  sky  as  though  to  read  something  of 
import  in  the  stars. 

The  oarsman  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time, 
but  ventured  no  word  to  disturb  the  thoughts  of  the 
one  musing  there.  They  were  speeding  over  the 
water  in  a  boat  so  light  that  it  flashed  through  the 
resisting  ripples  as  a  thing  alive,  and  a  curl  of  foam 
spread  outward  like  wings  on  which  they  were 
borne. 


154 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 


And  the  lights  along  the  shore  grew  larger. 
Once  the  man  in  the  stern  noted  them  and  raised 
his  head. 

"  Rest  the  oars,  Nic.  It  is  early.  I  have  no  long- 
ing  for  those  shores ;  it  is  better  here  wild  and  free 
on  the  waters.  How  do  you  feel  about  it? " 

"I?  The  water  is  good  — yes."  The  man  had 
the  words  and  the  curled  hair  of  the  black,  but  not 
the  features.  He  wore  an  Arab-looking  scarf  about 
his  head  and  beads  glinted  on  his  belt. 

"  But  what  of  the  shore  ? "  persisted  the  master, 
and  pointed  landward.  "  That  is  the  land  of  your 
people,  your  mother's  people  ;  how  do  you  feel  when 
you  come  in  sight  of  it  — the  fair  domain  of  the 
Spanish  king?" 

The  sailor  threw  back  his  head  and  looked  at  the 
questioner  through  eyes  suddenly  narrowed.  His 
teeth  showed  in  a  sinister  way  when  he  spoke. 

"  How  you  know  what  man  feel  here,  even  if  he 
never  speak  word?"  he  demanded.  "You  know 
how  I  am  made  to  feel,"  and  he  touched  his  brow 
and  breast.  "  You  know  maybe  how  I  want  all  the 
knives  the  Spanish  make  to  be  put  in  one  big  knife, 
and  I  want  all  the  strength  of  all  the  Indian  and  all 
the  black  blood  over  the  sea  to  be  put  in  one  man's 
arm  —  my  arm  —  that  I  could  cut  the  whites  who 
are  thieves  from  out  this  country,  and  pile  them 
many  as  the  stalks  of  corn  when  the  harvest  is.  If 
the  priests  would  give  me  prayer  like  they  do  white 
man,  I  would  ask  that  the  rainfall  of  all  the  world 
for  one  year  be  given  in  a  night  to  our  great  river, 
that  it  might  sweep  the  Spanish  and  the  other  bad 
whites  into  the  sea !  " 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  155 

His  face  was  the  face  of  a  devil,  and  his  voice  had 
in  it  the  hiss  of  a  serpent.  But  the  white  man 
opposite  watched  him  with  unmoved  scrutiny ;  a  lit 
tle  smile  as  of  sympathy  touched  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  you  can  hate,  Nic,"  he  observed.  "  Did 
your  Indian  mother  teach  you  that?  " 

"  No  ;  I  was  only  a  little  child  when  she  was  sold 
away  again.  But  blood  tells  you  things  to  feel 
though  no  one  says  words  to  you,  heh  ?  " 

"  Does  it?"  asked  the  other,  watching  him  as 
though  it  was  a  curious  specimen  he  was  studying 
and  understanding.  "  Let  me  hear  what  it  tells 
you." 

"  Ugh !  "  And  the  fellow  leaned  forward  on  the 
oars  that  crossed  his  knees.  "  It  tells  me  voudou 
things,  for  they  were  lived  when  I  was  not  born ; 
tells  me  of  my  mother,  a  maid  of  the  Natchez,  of 
snaring  her  in  the  woods,  and  shutting  her  in  the 
ship  till  the  Cuba  was  reached  —  the  white  thieves 
did  that !  They  gave  her  on  that  island  to  a  black 
man  for  a  wife,  and  my  blood  tells  me  she  wanted  to 
kill  him,  just  as  I  wanted  to  kill  him  when  I  grew 
older  and  saw  him  asleep  in  the  sun.  Some  black 
men  good  —  him  not  good.  She  hated  like  I  hate 
-  I  know.  Then  when  her  master  sold  her,  but  not 
me,  she  ran  quick  up  where  the  cliff  rises  from  the 
sea  and  let  herself  fall  where  the  sharks  lay.  Every 
time  I  see  a  shark  I  think  of  the  white  men  who 
live  along  the  river  that  was  ours." 

The  other  man  made  a  queer  little  sound  like 
a  laugh  in  his  throat. 

"  There  are  men  who  would  deem  such  a  posses- 


156  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

sion  as  Nicholas  a  thing  of  danger,"  he  soliloquized; 
and  then  aloud,  "  Do  you  know  it  is  my  people  you 
are  throwing  hate  at? " 

"  I  know,"  assented  the  fellow.  "  You  bought  me 
out  of  hell,  and  I  would  make  myself  a  carpet  for 
your  feet,  but  I  can  not  kill  the  hate  for  the  grand 
white  rulers  over  there.  I  can  not ;  I  do  not  want 
to." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  muttered  the  other.  He  lay  there 
quiet  for  a  little  while,  master  arid  slave  alike 
steeped  m  reverie,  the  oars  forgotten.  They  drifted 
noiselessly  under  the  stars,  and  the  man  who  was 
white  clinched  and  flung  out  his  hand,  with  an 
imprecation,  as  if  some  audible  expression  must  be 
given  to  his  feelings. 

"Ah,  the  accursed  lot  with  their  paltry  titles, 
their  toy  aristocracy  with  its  paper  walls  of  caste ! 
How  I  long  to  crush  it  like  a  bit  of  rotted  fruit 
under  my  heel!"  Then  he  looked  across  at  the 
sailor,  and  thought,  "  He  hates  like  that  because  of 
wrongs  done  ere  he  was  born  — he,  a  slave!  Then 
how  much  my  hate  should  exceed  his  — I  who  bear 
in  heart  and  brain  the  cursed  records  their  jeweled 
hands  have  written  —  ah !  Take  the  oars,  Nicholas ; 
we  will  move  inland.  Keep  your  words  about  the 
whites  for  my  ears,  my  lad ;  no  other  will  under- 
stand  them  so  well.  You  are  a  good  hater,  and  such 
a  one  is  faithful  —  it  is  good." 

The  sailor  nodded,  and  again  the  boat  seemed  to 
wake  into  life  at  his  touch ;  and  as  they  sped  over 
the  waters  one  could  picture  a  tryst  to  be  kept 
where  lattices  were  not  too  closely  locked,  and  the 


THE    MAX    ROCHELLE.  157 

man  in  the  stern  a  cavalier  who  could  carry  a  knife 
for  a  love  as  well  as  kisses. 

Not  a  youthful  man  by  any  means,  though  his 
full  beard  was  black,  and  the  hair  too,  hair  tied  back, 
but  not  netted  or  braided,  just  left  in  curled  locks 
about  his  brow  and  throat,  joining  his  beard  until 
his  eyes  and  upper  face  were  simply  framed  in  the 
silky  darkness  —  a  sea-king  truly  in  appearance,  and 
one  would  judge  him  Spanish,  yet  by  his  own  words 
he  hated  the  Spanish,  and  each  man  of  his  vessel 
was  of  part  Indian  blood  —  a  very  good  reason  for 
the  suspicion  that  he  also  was  connected  with  some 
tribe. 

Nicholas  avoided  skillfully  all  craft  in  the  river 
and  guided  his  boat  less  swiftly  and  in  perfect 
silence  along  the  shadowy  shore,  passing  here  and 
there  the  "flatboats"  of  Kentucky  traders,  and  of 
insidious  English,  who  could  be  trusted  for  but  one 
thing  —  their  certainty  to  draw  strength,  as  a  vam 
pire  sucks  blood,  from  the  very  heart  of  the  French 
and  Spanish  colonies. 

The  rjlace  they  were  approaching  was  by  no 
means  the  select  corner  of  the  town.  Hostelry  and 
cafe  elbowed  each  other  in  house  of  logs  and  house 
of  plaster;  women's  laughter  came  out  across  the 
water  at  times,  and  the  tinkle-tang  of  the  banjo,  or 
the  softer,  deeper  music  of  a  guitar. 

In  one  of  those  places  a  woman  —  the  wife  of 
the  accommodating  proprietor  —  was  singing  a  song 
for  the  pleasure  of  some  Amfricains,  who  paid 
for  wine  and  ate  and  drank  like  savages  —  a  very 
spirited  song,  full  of  so  much  revolutionary  spirit 


158  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

that  a  Spaniard  in  the  military  dress  raised  his 
finger  and  shook  it  at  her,  with  a  smile  of  reproach. 
But  as  Senor  Grenadier  did  not  look  at  all  ferocious, 
she  rewarded  him  with  a  little  moue  that  was  like  a 
mute  invitation  to  a  kiss,  and  finished  the  ballade  in 
triumph. 

"  If  ill  fortune  did  not  force  me  to  be  on  guard  in 
an  hour,  I  would  remain,  to  be  sure  that  no  revolu 
tionary  seed  was  sown  here,"  he  said,  jokingly,  over 
his  cigar.  "  Do  you  know,  Madame  Manette,  that 
your  pretty  songs  might  not  be  much  liked  by  the 
senors  of  the  Cabildo  ?  To  be  sure  you  only  mean 
to  be  merry,  but  they  are  dull  to  comprehend  a  jest, 
and  if  others  of  the  guard  should  chance  in  I  would 
have  to  beg  you  to  cease  —  you  comprehend?  I 
only  speak  in  the  interest  of  peace,  for  civil  war  is 
an  ugly  thing  to  manage,  and  from  a  song  might 
grow  a  battle." 

"Oh,  we  thank  you,  Senor  Soldier."  And  all 
madame's  pretty  teeth  shone.  "  It  pleases  the 
rangers  to  hear  those  ballades  of  Paris  and  the 
revolt,  but  I  assure  you  I  will  not  sing  them  for  the 
nobles  of  the  Cabildo;  but  for  your  good-will  I 
promise  to  sing  any  Spanish  song  you  ask  for  when 
you  come  again.  Bucnas  nochcs,  senor." 

After  the  departure  of  the  gentleman  of  the 
guard,  all  the  remaining  visitors  were  of  the  ranger 
class.  Kentuckians,  with  their  long  knives  and 
their  flint-lock  muskets,  sat  around  enjoying  Spanish 
tobacco  and  French  wine,  though  the  older  ones 
invariably  called  for  rum,  and  then  the  spirits  dis 
tilled  at  Jamaica  filled  many  a  cup  quickly  emptied. 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  159 

Then  there  were  the  semi-French,  semi-Indian 
voyageurs,  with  their  fur-trimmed  garments,  and  the 
bright  gleam  of  quills  and  beads  glinting  over  them 
as  they  turned  in  the  light.  Many  slim  young  faces 
belonging-  to  bodies  lithe  and  alert  as  deer-hounds, 
and  in  their  expression  a  sagacity  not  seen  in  the 
young  faces  of  the  courts  —  a  keen  directness  to  see 
and  judge — though  there  in  the  cafe  by  the  river 
their  whole  attitude  spoke  of  relaxation.  They  had 
come  far  through  the  wilderness ;  had  reached,  per 
haps  for  the  first  time  in  a  year  —  two  years  —  a  place 
where  music  sounded,  where  men  were  merry,  and 
where  a  roof  was  the  usual  thing  to  sleep  under 
instead  of  the  high  sky  and  the  un walled  horizon. 

So  they  paid  out  their  bits  of  silver  coin  for  the 
enjoyment  so  rare  to  them,  and  on  the  tables  where 
they  had  eaten,  the  platters  were  pushed  aside  and 
playing-cards  were  produced.  Pretty  Madame  Man- 
ette  was  most  helpful  in  forming  the  games;  and 
an  hour  after  the  Spanish  guardsman  left  more  than 
one  player  had  little  piles  of  silver  before  him  and 
was  striving  for  the  smile  of  Dame  Fortune. 

It  was  then  that  a  newcomer  entered  —  a  man  in 
long  cloak  and  slouch-hat,  who  stood  inside  the  door 
and  swept  the  room  with  keen  eyes,  as  if  in  search 
of  known  faces,  and  not  finding  them,  advanced 
indifferently. 

"  Any  one  been  here  for  me,  madame  ? "  he  asked, 
as  one  who  is  acquainted. 

"  No,  Senor  Zanalta,  not  yet;  but  the  night  is  yet 
early.  You  see  all  these  are  strangers  of  the  north 
countries,  traders  and  trappers  —  no  more." 


A   FLOWER  OF   FRANCE. 

"  More  are  coming  now."  And  Zanalta  looked 
toward  the  door,  where  steps  were  heard,  but  he 
stepped  back  into  the  shadow  until  the  newcomer 
was  seen. 

There  was  no  concealment,  however,  about  the 
stranger.  He  strode  in  and  looked  around,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  that  bespoke  good-fellowship.  A 
boy  at  one  of  the  tables  was  whistling  an  air,  and 
ceased  in  the  midst  of  a  strain  to  place  his  money, 
when  the  stranger  coolly  took  up  the  measure  and 
whistled  the  finale  of  it  himself,  causing  all  the 
heads  to  turn  toward  him ;  and  the  youth  grinned  in 
a  puzzled  way,  feeling  honored  by  the  drollery  of  so 
imposing  a  person  directed  toward  himself. 

"Cracky!"  called  one  of  the  Amc'ricains.  "If  you 
can  play,  mister,  as  well  as  you  can  pipe  I'll  not  be 
one  to  enter  a  game  with  you,  though  I'd  cheerfully 
pay  for  your  rum  to  hear  the  whistle  again." 

' '  Anon , ' '  returned  the  other.  ' '  And  how  goes  your 
world,  Madame  Manette  ?  Faith,  you  grow  more 
charming  with  each  return  trip  I  make  to  your 
port." 

"  Then  is  it  seemly  I  should  beg  you  to  come  with 
more  frequency,"  she  returned,  with  an  innate 
coquetry  in  her  shrug  and  glance.  "  Though  Capi- 
taine  Rochelle  can  not  enter  our  door  too  often, 
because  of  the  merry  spirit  he  ever  brings  with 
him.  But  see,  monsieur,  there  is  some  one  besides 
me  to  greet  you —  Don  Zanalta." 

"  Well  met,  most  gracious  senor !  "  And  the  hat  of 
Rochelle  was  lifted  with  an  exaggerated  flourish. 
A  spirit  of  bravado  seemed  natural  to  him  ;  even  his 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  161 

voice,  deep  and  somewhat  husky,  had  ever  a  sugges 
tion  of  buried  laughter. 

But  the  smile  of  Don  Zanalta  was  not  very  cordial 
as  he  returned  the  salute.  "  It  is  pleasant,  of  course, 
to  know  that  our  friends  are  merry  over  meeting  us, 
monsieur,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  showing  chagrin  ;  "  but 
why  take  this  canaille  into  our  confidence?" 

"Oh  ho  !  "  laughed  Rochelle  ;  "  that,  amigo  mio,  is 
one  of  the  disadvantages  of  being  one  of  the  '  noble.' 
The  rulers  of  the  land  must  never  be  seen  in  the 
modest  corners  of  their  domains  without  a  mask,  lest 
they  be  thought  to  possess  modest  aspirations  them 
selves.  But  I  thank  the  good  God  I  am  not  proud, 
in  proof  of  which  I  am  willing  to  empty  a  bottle 
with  you,  even  in  this  unaristocratic  corner." 

The  mockery  set  Zanalta's  teeth  tight  on  his  lip, 
but  he  followed  to  a  table  in  the  corner,  though  evi 
dently  unwilling. 

"  You  are,  to  say  the  least,  in  a  devil  of  a  mood,  to 
choose  this  place  for  meeting,"  he  persisted.  "  Why 
not  the  cabin  of  your  own  vessel  ? " 

"  I  can  see  the  cabin  of  my  own  vessel  every  day 
in  the  year,  if  I  choose,"  he  returned,  carelessly. 
"  But  I  fancy  new  faces  and  walls  sometimes.  I 
fancy  corners  of  Orleans  unspoiled  by  the  conven 
tional  shackles  of  aristocracy.  You  comprehend, 
my  noble  friend  ?  And  then  the  songs  of  madame 
have  always  excellence  —  more  than  is  apparent  in 
the  wine  she  serves  us." 

"  It  is  natural  you  should  grow  fastidious,"  assented 
Zanalta.  "  You  yourself  have  choice  of  so  many 

wines  in  your  voyages  to  — 
11 


162  A   FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

Rochelle  laughed.  "  Never  mind  the  port.  You 
know  you  enjoy  it  all  the  more  from  the  supposed  fact 
that  it  belongs  to  lawless  traffic.  Of  course  you  are 
a  good  subject  — long  live  the  king!  —  but  how  you 
all  love  to  cheat  him  of  his  perquisites." 

"  Be  wary,  Senor  Capitaine !  In  your  choice  of 
meeting-place  who  can  tell  what  ears  listen  ?  Who 
can  be  sure  that  the  Spanish  guard  will  not  echo 
your  steps  as  you  leave  here  ?  " 

"True  —  true  enough,"  assented  Rochelle,  with  a 
wise  smile  in  his  eyes.  "  But  have  I  not  friends  in 
Orleans  who  will  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  me  from 
the  state  ?  I  can  mention  at  least  six  whose  good 
hearts  would  not  let  me  suffer  —  yours  heading  the 
list,  amigo  mio.  But  "  -  and  his  brow  showed  a  deep 
wrinkle  — "  where  is  our  friend  Senor  Ronando 
to-night  ?  Is  his  stomach  too  weak  for  this  ?  "  And 
he  nodded  toward  the  assembly  in  the  center  of  the 
room. 

"  No ;  it  is  awkward,  senor,  excessively  so,  but  the 
money  he  owes  you  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  raise 
at  this  season.  His  father,  the  old  judge,  holds  him 
in  bad  favor  for  other  things  just  now." 

"  Ah  ! " 

"  Yes ;  his  highness  has  suddenly  drawn  the  lines 
very  tight  about  poor  Gabriel,  though  to  be  sure 
it  is  more  the  fault  of  Monsieur  Lamort  than  any 
other.  He  has  been  unearthing  buried  and  forgot 
ten  laws,  and  from  his  own  eminence  he  looks  on  all 
pleasant  folly  as  a  crime,  and  wherever  he  finds  laws 
to  agree  with  him  he  takes  exceeding  pains  to 
enforce  them." 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  163 

"You  have  mentioned  this  Lamort  ere  this,  so 
have  others."  And  Rochelle  looked  interested.  "The 
aristocrats  give  him  wishes  that  are  near  curses,  I 
hear,  but  the  canaille  look  on  him  in  a  different 
light.  Drink  down  your  wine,  and  tell  me  of  this 
priestly  law-giver." 

" Priestly,  no;  I  have  never  seen  him  enter  a 
church.  But  he  has  a  scent  like  a  fiend  for  a  path 
that  is  crooked,  and  chains  for  a  neighbor  of  his  that 
walks  in  it.  I  tell  you  it  is  well  for  you  that  King 
Charles'  men  and  not  Victor  Lamort  have  an 
interest  in  knowing  when  your  cargo  is  unloaded  - 
and  where." 

"  Bah  !  —  a  French  adventurer  who  tries  to  climb 
to  high  places  by  dragging  others  down." 

"  Not  quite.  He  has  refused  the  high  places  so 
far  offered  him  ;  therein  lies  his  influence  with  the 
Cabildo  —  with  the  governor  himself.  When  a  man 
punishes  vice  through  love  of  virtue,  you  must  agree 
he  becomes  somewhat  of  a  wonder,  and  wonders 
have  their  influence." 

"And  the  aristocrats  do  not  love  him,  though 
they  sit  at  his  table,  I  dare  say.  Could  you  not  take 
a  friend  of  the  sea  with  you  some  fine  evening  when 
you  want  to  sup? "  And  Rochelle  laughed  quietly  at 
the  dismay  on  Zanalta's  face.  "Never  mind,  I 
shall  call  alone  to  present  my  respects  to  him  some 
morning ;  and  if  debts  of  honor  are  not  looked  after 
more  closely  in  the  colony  I  will  take  a  hand  in  the 
game  of  virtue  played  by  Monsieur  Lamort,  and 
might  give  him  some  points  for  his  prosecution." 
"  Tut !  —  you  are  not  serious." 


164  A   FLOWER  OF   FRANCE. 

"  Why  not  ?  I  might  turn  monk  or  saint  yet,  and 
I  count  on  my  luck-money  buying  me  peace  with 
heaven." 

"  Then  I  must  contribute  my  share."  And  Zanalta 
drew  some  rolls  of  gold  from  his  pocket  —  the  gold 
received  for  Venda  —  and  stacked  them  beside  the 
wine-glasses.  "  I  should  not  want  you  left  in  purga 
tory  because  of  my  debt." 

"  Lest  my  spirit  should  haunt  you  ? "  said  Rochelle, 
with  that  laugh  in  his  throat ;  but  the  face  of  the 
other  changed  to  a  quick  frown. 

"  Make  your  jests  on  some  other  subject,  if  you 
please,"  he  answered,  curtly.  "  I  do  not  relish  such 
things." 

"I  see  —  and  I  wonder  why,  amigo?  Now  if  it 
were  I  —  I  am  expected  to  know  something  of  send 
ing  souls  to  paradise,  and  should  grow  nervous  at 
turning  dark  corners  lest  some  soul  shut  out  is  wait 
ing  me  there;  but  you  —  why,  you  have  been  a 
loyal  subject,  a  proper  man,  and  without  a  record 
against  you  in  the  courts,  so  the  unhappy  dead  will 
not  howl  at  you  for  a  chance  of  revenge." 

" Cease!  can't  you?"  growled  Zanalta,  and  tossed 
down  another  goblet  of  wine.  "  By  heaven,  you  are 
a  worse  croaker  than  an  old  voudou  !  I  will  talk  to 
you  some  other  night ;  I  am  going  home." 

"Why  such  haste?  Better  wait  until  the  moon 
comes  up  ;  the  night  is  at  its  darkest." 

"Its  darkest!"  Zanalta  dropped  again  into  the 
chair.  "Then  do  something,"  he  suggested;  "get 
the  cards  —  sing  a  song  —  do  anything  but  sit  there 
and  talk  of  gruesome  things." 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  165 

"  Just  as  you  say  —  I  am  ready  for  a  game  at  any 
hour  of  the  night ;  but  I  remind  you  that  when  we 
played  last  you  insisted  you  would  not  touch  cards 
with  me  again." 

"True  —  the  devil  played  with  you  that  night, 
and  I  was  vexed  at  your  luck  ;  but  to-night  I  will 
not  risk  enough  to  spoil  my  temper." 

The  seaman  was  clearing  the  glasses  from  the 
table,  pushing  them  aside,  and  dropping  the  gold 
in  his  pocket. 

"  You  have  not  even  looked  at  the  amount  there," 
remarked  Zanalta  ;  and  the  other  smiled. 

"  Never  fear  that  my  Orleans  friends  who  know 
me  will  ever  try  to  cheat  me,"  he  returned.  "  You 
see  how  implicit  is  my  faith  in  you  ? " 

Zanalta  said  nothing.  He  was  galled  by  the  thinly 
veiled  suggestion  of  Rochelle's  speeches,  and  once 
or  twice  that  evening  the  idea  came  to  him  that 
never  before  had  he  presumed  to  be  quite  so  much 
given  to  covert  threats;  and  looking  across  at  the 
careless  roysterer  something  of  temptation  to 
murder  crossed  his  mind.  He  hated  so  this  fellow 
of  bravado  —  and  knowledge. 

But  the  fellow  played  with  the  cards,  and  hummed 
a  love-song  in  a  deep  bass,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  roll 
ing  out  gold-pieces  to  make  the  game  of  interest. 

"  So  Ronando  is  in  disgrace  —  eh  ? "  he  asked,  care 
lessly.  "  Is  there  a  cause  ?  " 

Zanalta,  :made  a  contemptuous  motion  of  the 
lips. 

"Monsieur  Victor  Lamort  has  persuaded  the 
Alcaldes  to  that  effect.  The  reason  given  is  the 


166  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

breaking  of  the  law  under  Article  6  of  the  Black 
Code." 

"Ah !  Has  the  persistent  Lamort  then  discovered 
that  pretty  Creole  slave  and  her  white-skinned  child 
on  the  Ronando  plantation  to  the  north?  That  is 
a  pity.  He  should  have  learned  wisdom  from  his 
father,  who  was  too  much  of  a  fox  to  let  his  amuse 
ments  be  known  to  his  neighbors." 

Zanalta,  too  astonished  to  speak  at  once,  simply 
stared. 

"  So  you  know  that? "  he  said  at  last.  "  I  have  no 
wonder  that  people  call  you  a  man  from  the  devil." 

"  Do  they  call  me  so?"  smiled  Rochelle.  "  I  take 
it  as  a  compliment  to  be  thought  unusual  in  these 
straight-jacket  days,  when  the  Cabildo  decides  every 
thing  on  Orleans  island  from  the  gate  by  which  souls 
enter  heaven  to  the  fashion  of  a  man's  temper  on 
earth.  And  so  Monsieur  Lamort  is  looking  up  those 
troublesome  old  slave  laws?  What  an  unpleasant 
neighbor  he  must  be  for  you,  amigo" 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  to  understand  you/' 
retorted  Zanalta,  with  a  scowl.  But  his  opponent 
only  laughed,  and  dropped  his  last  card  on  the  table, 
winning  the  game. 

"  You  mean  you  have  not  the  inclination,"  he 
answered.  "  And  there  may,  after  all,  be  little  to 
understand ;  only  I  have  heard  of  some  curious  deal 
ings  on  this  soil  —  dealings  accepted  by  the  local 
government  in  past  days  —  and  if  this  meddler 
should  chance  on  some  of  them  —  well,  more  than 
Ronando  might  have  slaves  confiscated,  and  acres 
too." 


THE    MAN   ROCHELLE.  167 

"Ugh!  Can't  you  speak  of  less  somber  things? 
Tell  me  any  word  you  have  for  Ronando." 

"  Only  this,  that  within  thirty  days  I  must  have 
my  money." 

"  Monstrous !  —  that  is— well,  he  simply  can  not 
make  settlement." 

The  smile  in  the  eyes  of  Rochelle  changed  to  a 
fierceness  —  a  cruelty,  and  his  fingers  clinched. 
One  could  tell  by  a  glance  at  him  then  what  a 
tyrant  the  man  might  be  when  a  passion  of  his  was 
touched. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  the  words  '  can  not,' 
Senor  Zanalta,"  he  answered,  with  a  cold  sneer. 
"  Debts  owed  to  me  must  be  paid  to  me  — else  - 

"Well  — what?" 

The  seaman  recovered  himself  at  the  question, 
and  the  smile,  like  a  dropped  mask,  was  recovered. 

"  Oh  "—  and  he  sent  a  shower  of  cards  in  the  air 
and  caught  them  by  some  slight  of  the  hand  -  "I 
might  think  it  my  duty  to  kill  him  if  he  refused ; 
and  then  I  might  simply  lay  the  case  before  his 
august  father,  the  judge." 

"  Yes ;  and  be  called  on  to  stand  a  trial  for  smug 
gling." 

"  Ah  !  —  perhaps ;  but,  after  all,  who  knows  that  I 
smuggle,  if  I  do?  The  gossips  along  the  streets, 
who  repeat  my  name,  and  fancy  me  pirate,  and 
Indian,  and  devil  —  which  of  them  has  ever  seen  me 
dispose  of  a  sou's  worth  of  merchandise  ?  Not  one. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  the  aristocrats  like  yourself, 
who  have  a  fancy  for  wine  such  as  is  drank  in  my 
cabin  —  well,  if  a  boat  touches  the  shore  with  kegs 


168  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

of  that  wine  for  you,  are  you  going  to  give  in  evi 
dence  that  you  have  cause  to  think  I  smuggled,  for 
you  received  the  goods  ?  Ah,  amigo  mio,  think  not 
to  trap  a  wolf  with  cobwebs." 

"  But  think  of  Ronando's  necessities  at  present," 
insisted  Zanalta,  as  if  not  noting  the  argument 
advanced.  "  He  has  but  just  been  married,  and  —  " 

Rochelle  laughed  heartlessly,  and  arose,  slipping 
the  gold-bits  into  his  pocket  as  though  he  loved  the 
sound  of  them,  letting  them  fall  one  on  the  other 
with  slow  deliberation. 

"  Married,  is  he  ?  That  is  good.  A  marriage  no 
doubt  arranged  with  all  proper  ceremony  by  the 
families,  as  the  marriage  of  an  aristocrat  always  is 
-a  marriage  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  the  old 
judge  — eh?  I  like  to  think  of  that.  Wedding- 
bells  !  Well,  we  can't  have  them  down  in  this 
corner,  but  we  can  have  other  jingles.  Madame 
Manette,  wine  for  the  house  !  And  how  is  it  you 
have  no  music  and  dancing  to-night?  Do  you 
assume  mourning  for  the  dead  in  Paris  ? " 

"  No,  monsieur  ;  but  to  tell  you  truly,  that  beast 
—  that  monster,  Pierre,  has  been  swilling  some  vile 
stuff  elsewhere,  and  he's  now  stupid  under  the  table 
of  the  kitchen.  The  violin  is  there  —  yes,  but  not 
one  to  play  it;  and  these  strange  men  from  the 
Kentucky  do  ask  me  to  sing  and  sing,  and  I  can  sing 
no  more.  That  beast  Pierre  !  " 

"  Do  not  grieve  your  gentle  heart,  madame.  Ho ! 
lads,  are  there  any  of  you  would  shake  a  foot  if  the 
music  was  made?  Good!  Then  listen.  A  bottle 
of  wine  to  the  one  who  changes  his  steps  oftenest, 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  169 

and  another  to  the  one  who  can  dance  longest. 
Now  dance,  you  devils,  dance  !  " 

And  they  did.  Madame  Manette  had  brought  to 
Rochelle  the  fiddle,  and  with  one  long  draw  of  the 
bow,  like  a  wail,  he  played. 

Zanalta,  standing  back  near  the  wall,  watched  him 

—  the  hat  thrown  off,  the  foot  keeping  time  gaily  to 
the  music ;  his  laugh  and  his  jests  flung  out  to  any 
who  challenged  him. 

"  Fiddle  ?  Oh,  yes  ;  and  dance  too,  Madame  Ma 
nette,  if  you  would  be  my  partner." 

"  You  play  pretty  airs,  monsieur,"  she  commented, 
beating  time  with  one  graceful  upraised  hand. 

"  Why  not  ?  Have  I  not  your  eyes  for  inspiration  ? 
You  drive  away  prose,  and  I  am  young  again  to-night. 
Encore,  my  lad  —  that  was  good !  Come  now,  thou 
hardy  ranger,  does  the  dance  tire  you  so  much 
sooner  than  the  chase  ?  Split  the  boards,  my  lad, 
and  another  bottle  is  yours  !  Dance  now,  dance  all, 
and  the  devil  keep  time  !  " 

So  he  played  there,  played,  and  jested,  and  laughed 

—  a  lusty  Pan  scattering  gems  of  music  on  those 
uncritical  dancers.     And  the  one  cultured  taste  in 
the  cafe  stood  astounded  at  the  revelation  given  of 
musical  talent — something  more  than  mere  talent, 
a  wild  sort  of  genius  that  spoke  through  his  fingers 
and  set  the  blood  tingling,  the  spirits  leaping. 

"  A  fiend,  I  truly  believe ;  and  yet  all  the  people 
to  whom  he  speaks  wish  him  to  speak  again,"  mut 
tered  Zanaka.  "  By  the  saints,  it  was  an  ill  day 
when  our  paths  crossed.  Yet  —  who  knows  —  even  a 
savage  has,  I  suppose,  some  friend  of  whom  he 


170  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

grows  fond,  and  of  all  the  men  with  whom  Rochelle 
has  played  he  seems  most  kindly  to  me.  Yes,  even 
Ronando  noticed  that,  and  thought  my  influence  — 
but  bah !  who  can  influence  that  bravo  there  if  he 
once  sets  his  mind  to  be  displeased?  I  wish  with 
all  my  heart  he  would  play  himself  into  a  fit  of 
apoplexy." 

And  with  this  unchristian  thought  the  Spanish 
gentleman  approached  the  fiddler. 

"Well,  Rochelle,  since  you  are  wed  to  music 
to-night,  I  will  take  myself  away.  May  I  not  hope 
to  take  kinder  words  to  Ronando  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  senor  ;  take  to  him  what  kindly  word 
pleases  you  —  all  the  love  of  your  heart — but  from 
me  give  him  the  thirty  days." 

And  the  musician  smiled,  and  nodded  to  the 
music,  and  to  emphasize  his  words,  and  then  added, 
"A  moment,  senor.  I  may  like  your  island  well 
enough  to  be  within  sight  of  it  for  a  space.  You  may 
need  a  friend,  and  I  may  let  you  know  where  I  am 
to  be  found  ;  but,  amigo,  do  not  come  again  with  the 
hat  and  cloak  of  a  disguised  brigand.  I  assure 
you  there  are  no  assassins  in  these  corners  waiting 
in  the  shadows  with  hidden  knives." 

Zanalta  bowed,  and  walked  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  Perhaps  not,  Monsieur  Rochelle,"  he  said  to  him 
self  ;  "  we  shall  see." 

The  wild  beat  of  the  music  rang  through  the 
room  and  out  into  the  night.  One  by  one  the 
dancers  left  the  floor  until  only  two  danced,  encour 
aged  by  the  laughter  of  their  companions  —  until  one 
suddenly  stood  still. 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  171 

"What  a  fool  I  am  to  hop  like  this  when  no 
matter  which  of  us  wins  the  wine  both  will  help  to 
drink  it,"  he  decided,  with  late-come  wisdom. 
Whereon  the  wine  was  ordered,  and  all  drank  thanks 
to  the  music  that  had  been  like  a  bit  of  witchery  to 
their  feet. 

But  the  musician  only  smiled  and  nodded  his 
black  head,  not  ceasing  his  playing,  only  drifting 
into  different  themes  —  music  to  sing  with  or  pray 
with,  wild  airs  with  storms  of  the  seas  rushing 
through,  and  sweet  calls  as  of  birds  after  the  rain  is 
over  and  the  sun  slips  through  the  clouds. 

He  appeared  oblivious  or  indifferent  to  the  people 
about  him,  though  they  had  all  grown  less  hilarious. 
Their  tones  were  lowered ;  one  youth  even  whispered 
when  he  asked,  "  Who  is  that  ? "  And  Madame 
Manette  crossed  herself  and  shook  her  head.  To 
say  for  a  surety  that  this  was  the  laughing  Rochelle 
—  she  did  not  know  what  to  tell  herself  ;  but  she  well 
knew  music  like  that  had  never  been  played  before 
under  their  roof. 

And  when  he  ceased  all  drew  a  longer  breath. 
They  began  to  chatter  aloud  once  more.  When 
madame  came  forward  he  handed  her  the  violin  and 
some  coin. 

"  That  for  the  reckoning ;  and  there  is  Pierre's  fid 
dle  —  I  may  borrow  it  again.  Buenas  nochesy  senora. 
My  lads,  adios" 

Not  a  laugh,  not  even  a  smile,  as  a  finale  for  the 
evening  he  had  made  so  hilarious  for  them.  He 
pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  as  one  does  when  the 
sun  sets  the  sands  or  the  water  all  a-glitter,  and 


172  A  FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

without  further  words  walked  straight  through  the 
room  and  out. 

"Begad,  but  that  furrener  is  a  curious  mate  to 
cross  trails  with,"  said  an  old  hunter.  "  I  was  a-think- 
ing  he'd  be  a  prime  one  to  have  on  a  trip  if  prov 
ender  was  short.  He'd  make  ye  forget  all  eating 
and  drinking  if  he  had  but  a  riddle." 

"  Aye,  but  I'll  go  bail  he  has  his  sullen  fits  too," 
observed  another;  "  and  I'd  choose  to  be  far  away 
when  they  touch  him." 

The  semi-French  voyageurs  from  the  Illinois  chat 
tered  of  him  in  their  soft  patois,  and  gesticulated  to 
emphasize  the  spirit  conveyed  to  them  by  the  music ; 
and  one  old  north  countryman  puffed  at  his  pipe 
and  frowned  into  the  smoke  as  one  does  who  tries 
to  collect  scattered  memories. 

"  Once  did  I  know  of  one  like  to  this  —  this  gentle 
man  of  the  museec,"  he  remarked  at  last.  "  It  was 
of  many  years  gone  I  have  the  memory  —  of  up 
the  big  river  to  the  place  where  the  black  gowns 
built  the  crosses  and  taught  to  the  sauvage  men  the 
true  religion.  Yes  ;  I  was  young  man  then.  He 
was  young  man  too  —  a  boy  who  loved  the  boat  on 
the  water  and  the  jungles,  and  who  could  sing  the 
songs  of  the  birds,  and  traded  all  the  skins  he  got 
for  new  things  of  museec  to  play  on.  Ah !  the  good 
priest  did  make  lament  over  that  sometimes ;  but 
the  boy  was  close  to  his  heart  after  all." 

"  Pouf !  Is  that  all  the  tale  you  will  tell  of  him? 
Where  did  he  range  to  with  his  songs  and  his 
music?" 

"  We  never  did  know.     Once  —  as  it  had  often 


THE   MAN   ROCHELLE.  173 

happen  — he  did  enter  a  boat  with  the  good  Father 
Luis  to  drift  down  where  we  are  now.  The  good 
father  did  return  when  the  time  was  ready,  but  the 
youth  of  the  songs  we  never  did  see  —  not  any 
more  ;  and  I  did  not  think  to  live  to  the  day  when  I 
would  hear  again  sounds  like  he  would  make  on  the 
fiddle,  but  it  has  been.  I  did  hear  it  to-night  when 
the  Spanish-spoken  man  made  the  museec." 

But  the  finale  of  the  old  voyagcurs  story  did  not 
interest  the  younger  members.  It  was  unsatisfactory 
to  hear  but  a  fragment  of  a  life-story,  and  the  old 
man  was  questioned  no  more ;  he  was  left  to  enjoy 
in  silence  his  pipe  and  his  memories. 

And  the  Spanish-spoken  man  ? 

He  was  out  alone  under  the  stars  and  the  pale  late 
moon,  sitting  on  the  side  of  an  old  boat  left  because 
useless  along  the  shore.  The  little  lapping  waves 
came  almost  to  his  feet,  and  reflected  broken  frag 
ments  of  those  lights  in  the  heavens.  He  had 
walked  up  and  down  there  in  the  loneliness  of  the 
night  for  some  time,  as  if  in  deep  thought.  The 
boat  from  which  he  had  alighted  was  not  to  be 
seen ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  looking  for  it,  only 
wanting  a  place  alone  in  which  to  mutter  either 
curses  or  prayers,  for  each  seemed  to  be  finding 
vent  through  his  speech,  as  though  he  were  bor 
rowing  an  hour  from  life  in  which  to  let  loose 
some  wild  mood  that  even  the  music  would  not 
serve  to  quell. 

Yet,  were  not  all  the  seas  wide  enough  for  any 
discontent  of  his,  that  he  sought  this  lonely  bit  of 
one  small  island  ? 


174  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Far  off  some  guard  on  duty  called  the  hour,  and  a 
bell  sounded  across  the  water.  It  was  midnight. 

He  arose  at  the  reminder,  and  flung  out  his  arms 
as  a  man  who  is  weary  or  slothful. 

"  An  empty  night  after  all,"  he  muttered.  "  Well, 
progress  is  a  question  of  moods,  and  my  mood  was 
wrong  to-night;  and  then,  well,  even  the  devil 
must  grow  tired  — tired  at  times,  though  he  has  his 
own  way  in  hell." 

He  looked  around  in  the  moonlight  dimmed  by 
the  fog.  No  moving  thing  was  visible  but  the  little 
waves  and  their  wreckage,  though  if  his  eyes  had 
been  sharp  enough  to  see  through  the  darkness  to 
the  heavy  timbers  a  few  paces  away  he  would  have 
discovered  a  black  form  flat  on  the  ground  along 
the  shadow  of  the  piled-up  logs,  passive  as  though 
asleep. 

But  at  the  first  step  of  Monsieur  Rochelle  the 
head  was  raised  ever  so  slightly  —  listening  —  listen 


ing! 


And  as  he  walked  slowly  past,  with  bent  head  and 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  the  figure  arose  to  its 
feet  and  ran  in  a  half-stooping,  stealthy  way,  ready 
to  drop  flat  on  the  ground  if  the  man  ahead  of  him 
should  turn  around. 

But  he  did  not.  Once  he  halted  and  listened  to  a 
sound  that  seemed  to  come  from  an  open  boat-house 
just  ahead  of  him  and  a  little  to  the  left ;  but  it  was 
not  repeated,  and  he  walked  on  close  in  the  shadow. 

But  just  as  he  reached  it  there  was  a  sudden  rush 
of  bare  feet  behind  his  back,  a  warning  cry  from  the 
boat-shed,  a  crushing  stroke  of  a  stick  that  cracked 


THE    MAN   ROCHELLE.  175 

and  broke,  a  howl  and  a  curse  as  some  one  staggered 
hurriedly  away.  It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that 
Monsieur  Rochelle  could  but  spring  aside  and  turn, 
with  his  hands  on  his  pistols,  when  it  was  all  over  ; 
and  before  him  there  stood  only  a  slave-woman 
with  white  hair  and  the  splintered  stick  in  her 
hand. 

"  He  is  gone  —  but  see!"  And  she  pointed  near 
his  feet,  where  a  sinister-looking  bag  of  sand  lay. 
"  Black  man  creep,  creep  where  you  not  see  —  but  I 
see,  so  I  wait;  I  do  so."  And  she  made  pantomime 
of  striking  with  the  stick.  "  He  feel  me,  see  me- 
think  me  voudou.  He  run  —  heh  ! " 

"And  this  was  for  me  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 
sand-bag,  though  his  eyes  never  left  the  woman's 
face. 

"  For  you.  He  run  ;  he  fling  it  back  so,  to  let  it 
strike  on  your  head.  Then  this  fell  heavy  across  his 
eyes,  and  he  make  tracks  quick  across  there." 

She  looked  across  there,  but  the  river-fog  had 
blotted  him  out.  She  pointed,  but  the  white  man's 
gaze  did  not  turn  from  her. 

"  And  you  are  — " 

"  Venda,  master,"  answered  the  woman,  with  one 
beseeching  look  upward  to  him ;  and  then,  as  he 
looked  at  her  with  only  curious  interest,  she  dropped 
her  head  and  crossed  her  hands  on  her  breast. 

"  Venda ;  it  is  a  good  name,  girl.    Are  you  free?  " 

"  No,  master.  Venda  not  want  freedom ;  Venda  in 
happy  home." 

"  Ah  !  "  And  he  gazed  at  her  as  though  weighing 
all  her  words,  and  the  honesty  in  them.  Might  this 


176  A   FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

assault  be  only  a  trick?  Might  the  woman  be  a 
spy  who  helped  her  work  by  doing  him  a  service  ? 
"  If  your  home  is  happy  why  do  you  walk  abroad 
when  all  home-loving  people  are  sleeping  in  their 
beds?" 

She  hesitated,  and  then  touched  her  brow  with 
her  finger  in  mute  token  of  submission,  and  looked 
up  at  him. 

"Master,  last  night  I  slept  in  my  bed  — my 
first  sleep  in  a  bed  that  was  new  to  me.  In  that 
sleep  I  saw  a  man  whose  heart  was  angry  walk  on 
these  shores  with  a  danger  hanging  from  above. 
All  day  has  Venda  kept  the  dream  in  her  breast, 
and  when  the  night  crept  along  and  was  old  she 
comes  here  alone  to  see.  So  it  is,  master." 

"  You  are  voudou?" 

"  So  the  people  say  to  each  other."  And  for  the 
first  time  something  like  a  smile  came  about  her 
lips. 

"  Venda,  and  a  voudou,"  he  persisted  ;  "  and  what 
else? " 

"  Faithful,"  she  said  ;  and  the  words  were  low  but 
earnest,  and  her  hands  clasped  each  other  tightly. 
"  Faithful  if  you  ever  come  to  a  day  when  you  want 
one  you  can  trust." 

"  And  all  this  because  of  a  dream,  Venda?" 

"  Yes  "--and  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  sad,  curious 
look  in  them  —  "  all  this  because  of  a  dream,  master 
-a  dream." 

"Well"  -and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
thrust  a  hand  in  his  pocket  — "  if  you  wanted  freedom 
I  would  try  and  give  it  to  you  because  of  the  good 


THE    MAN    ROCHELLE.  177 

turn  your  dream  has  done  me  to-night ;  but  since 
you  are  not  to  be  bought,  you  will  take  a  few  coins 
in  memory  of  the  stranger?" 

She  set  her  teeth  close,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Venda  needs  no  gold  —  not  from  you,  master." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  ?  "  he  persisted.  "  People 
don't  lose  their  sleep  for  half  a  night,  and  all  for 
naught,  and  for  a  stranger  too." 

"Maybe — maybe  not,"  she  answered,  vaguely; 
"  but  if  you  ask  of  Venda  you  will  hear  that  her 
head  thinks  strange  things  —  maybe  witch  things. 
So  she  thinks  to-night.  She  has  spoken  to  you, 
master,  and  she  thinks  it  will  bring  good  luck.  The 
good  luck  is  better  than  gold-pieces." 

"  H'm!  —perhaps."  And  he  kept  watch  on  her 
from  under  those  black  brows.  "  Do  you  choose  to 
tell  me  any  more  of  yourself? " 

"  No,  master.  I  dreamed,  and  I  came  here  ;  that 
is  all." 

"  If  you  ever  see  me  again,  will  you,  if  you  need 
help,  remind  me  of  this  night,  that  I  may  repay 
you?" 

She  raised  her  head  quickly  at  that,  and  her  eyes 
looked  glad. 

"  Yes,  Master —Venda  promise  that;  and  she  will 
take  one  coin  if  you  will  put  a  mark  on  it,  and  on 
the  day  when  Venda  shows  it  to  you  and  asks  a 
favor  you  will  say,  '  It  shall  be.'  " 

"  Agreed  !  This  sounds  like  compacts  the  devil 
binds  souls  with.  Was  it  one  of  your  imps  you  flung 
into  the  fog  just  now?  But  I'll  trust  you  if  you 

12 


178  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

will  tell  me  one  thing.  Do  you  know  who  sent  that 
man  with  the  sand-bag  ?  " 

She  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "  Venda  have  to  say 
1  yes  '  and  '  no '  to  that,  master.  She  can't  tell  who 
said  the  words,  but  she  know  that  black  man  lives 
on  Master  Ronando's  plantation." 

He  nodded,  and  laughed  silently.  "  You're  honest 
voudou,  Venda.  Here  is  your  piece  of  gold ;  it  is 
already  marked  with  a  hole  through  the  king's 
head  —  some  one  trying  to  send  him  to  paradise  by 
witchcraft,  I've  no  doubt.  Now  where  will  you  go  ? " 

"  Where  you  will,  master." 

"  Then  I  will  that  you  go  to  that  house  of  yours 
that  you  like  better  than  freedom.  Go !  There  is 
no  danger  for  me  in  the  night  now ;  I  have  been 
warned.  Go,  and  the  saints  be  good  to  you,  Venda." 

"  No  —  no  !  "  she  muttered,  and  held  up  her  hand. 
"  Venda  know  that  church  meaning  ;  don't  say  that 
to  her.  She  don't  ask  you  to  say  saints'  words  to 
her — no,  no!  " 

He  caught  her  by  the  arm  and  turned  her  face 
with  a  certain  roughness  toward  the  pale  moon. 

"You  are  a  black  woman,  ain't  you?"  he  de 
manded,  and  then  let  her  go,  with  an  embarrassed 
laugh.  "  By  heaven,  you  are  such  a  cursedly 
strange  creature  that  you  start  wild  fancies  in  a 
man's  head  —  you  with  your  white  hair  and  your 
fear  of  blessings  !  If  any  one  doubts  that  you  are 
voudou  send  them  to  me,  girl ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Now 
adios!  " 

"  You  will  not  forget  the  promise,  and  the  hole 
through  the  king's  head? " 


THE   VOUDOU.  179 

"  Never  fear  that  I  will  forget  the*hole  through 
the  king's  head." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  content,  and  bowing 
her  head  passed  across  the  little  circle  of  light  and 
into  the  fog-land.  On  the  verge  of  it  she  cast  one 
glance  backward.  He  was  standing  there  in  the 
same  place  as  if  watching  her  ;  then  the  veil  of  the 
mist  fell  between  them. 

And  as  she  walked  swiftly  onward  her  hands 
were  locked  close  over  her  breast.  Once  she  pressed 
the  gold-piece  to  her  lips.  "  I  have  served  him,"  she 
muttered,  "  truly  served  him,  and  he  has  given  me 
a  token.  Ah,  Venda,  luck  is  good  to  you  since  you 
did  throw  away  the  knife  of  the  man  by  the  wine 
shop  —  good  to  you.  See  that  you  are  —  faithful  - 
faithful  to  —  the  dead  !  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  VOUDOU. 

IN  the  days  following,  events  proved  the  truth  of 
the  report  that  Monsieur  Lamort  was  really  bring 
ing  to  light  forgotten  slave-laws  and  making  revela 
tions  a  thing  of  dread  to  more  than  one  family. 

It  was  sad,  indeed  sad,  lamented  more  than  one 
member  of  the  older  families.  That  was  always  to 
be  expected,  however,  from  newcomers  —  they  so 
often  arrived  on  Orleans  Island  full  of  projects  and 
ambitions  for  the  bettering  of  things.  It  takes  time 


180  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

to  convince  sfrrangers  that  life  in  every  land  takes 
coloring  from  and  adapts  itself  to  the  influences  of 
the  soil.  It  was  folly  to  expect  all  at  once  a  life  in 
the  new  country  like  that  in  the  old.  The  laws? 
Oh,  yes  —  the  laws  had  been  made,  that  was  quite 
true,  and  they  were  well  meant,  no  doubt ;  but 
without  doubt  they  had  been  suggested  by  just 
such  zealous  enthusiasts  as  the  good  Monsieur 
Lamort  himself.  For  had  there  not  also  been  a  law 
passed  that  the  slaves  must  at  a  marriageable  age  be 
joined  in  wedlock,  with  a  priest,  so  please  you,  to 
officiate  ?  Ah,  there  had  been  many  a  laugh  in  the 
colony  over  that  law,  and  finally  the  king  was  con 
vinced  there  would  be  wisdom  in  annulling  it. 

But  all  were  convinced  that  there  yet  remained 
many  of  those  old  musty  laws  that  should  be  repealed. 
The  sudden  unearthing  of  Article  6  of  the  Black  Code 
was  an  assurance  of  the  fact  to  the  colonists  who 
owned  slaves,  and  chose  to  keep  them. 

And  Chevalier  Delogne  in  his  capacity  of  secretary 
to  Monsieur  Lamort  grew  suddenly  wise  regarding 
the  many  technical  points  of  law,  and  daily  wondered 
at  the  vast  amount  of  energy  and  zeal  displayed  by 
his  chief  for  the  thing  he  considered  justice. 

Well  might  his  abode  be  termed  the  refuge  of 
exiles,  for  truly  not  an  outcast  of  any  race  or 
tribe  would  find  himself  friendless  but  that  some 
one  would  direct  him  to  the  house  of  Monsieur 
Lamort. 

And  in  the  gardens  where  Felice  and  Basil  had 
years  ago  pledged  their  passionate  love-vows  there 
stalked  the  red  men  of  the  north  asking  council,  the 


THE   VOUDOU.  181 

exiles  of  France  asking   friendship,  and  the  ever- 
present  black  with  his  endless  grievances. 

The  owners  of  the  blacks  also  came  at  times, 
and  discussed  warmly  some  disputed  point  of  right, 
and  outwardly  at  least  they  conceded  their  full 
belief  in  the  fact  that  the  zeal  of  Monsieur  Lamort 
arose  from  motives  most  Christian. 

But  — well,  even  the  zeal  of  the  blessed  apostles 
could  easily  grow  into  a  nuisance  if  directed  toward 
a  new  colony  where  one  had  to  make  the  best  one 
could  of  those  animals  —  the  blacks  !  But  if  any 
of  the  planters  ever  thus  expressed  themselves, 
Monsieur  Lamort  would  only  smile,  in  his  serious, 
courteous  way,  and  chide  them  as  a  priest  might  for 
their  short-sightedness. 

"  Your  children  in  the  days  to  come  will  approve 
if  you  do  not  to-day,"  he  contented  himself  with 
saying.  And  Delogne  would  marvel  sometimes  at 
his  even  patience. 

"  Ah !  monsieur,  do  you  never  lose  your  temper 
over  anything?"  he  asked  one  morning  when  an 
unusually  tiresome  audience  had  been  given  to  a 
Dutchman  of  the  river  above.  "  I  look  at  you  in 
wonder." 

"At  your  age  I  too  would  have  marveled  at 
patience,"  nodded  Lamort,  with  a  smile.  "  Believe 
me,  no  one  is  born  with  it." 

"Glad  am  I  of  that  assurance,  Monsieur  Lamort," 
said  a  voice  back  of  them,  and  Constante  Raynel 
came  forward.  "  Were  you  discussing  state  secrets? 
If  so  I  will  retire,  and  proceed  to  forget  your  words. 
But  I  need  patience  so  sadly  myself,  and  was  sent 


182  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

into  this  world  so  lacking  it,  that  it  is  a  consolation 
to  know  it  is  a  thing  which  grows  by  length  of  days, 
and  that  I  am  not  entirely  peculiar  in  that  respect." 

"What  is  your  quarrel  now  against  life?  "asked 
Lamort.  "  Does  our  old  earth  go  round  too  slowly 
to  suit  your  fancy,  or  has  some  model  failed  at  the 
moment  when  genius  burned  within  you  and  you 
desired  to  catch  all  the  beauty  of  life  for  some 
picture?" 

"Oh,  yes;  you  may  laugh,  and  fancy  Raynel 
is  the  one  soul  on  earth  exempt  from  care,"  he 
retorted ;  "  but  I  assure  you  I  have  my  troubles  too 
— very  serious  ones." 

"Ah !  Which  portrait  did  you  commence  ? "  asked 
Delogne,  slyly,  and  laughed  aloud  when  the  artist 
answered,  with  ill-concealed  irritation : 

"  Madame  Zanalta's." 

"  I  knew  it  —  I  was  sure  of  it !  Ah,  my  painter  of 
beauty,  you  have  made  a  little  purgatory  for  your 
self  while  you  are  yet  alive,  and  heartily  do  I  wish 
that  the  lesson  may  teach  you  something  of  that 
patience  you  deplore." 

"  Nay,  Maurice,"  objected  Monsieur  Lamort. 
"  You  surely  attribute  Monsieur  Raynel's  impatience 
to  the  wrong  cause ;  for  what  gallant  would  ask  a 
greater  happiness  than  to  paint  the  likeness  of  his 
lady-love  ?  I  am  loath  to  leave  at  the  moment  you 
make  your  call,  my  dear  sir,  but  I  am  expected  in 
the  town  —  so  au  rcvoir!" 

Constante  bowed  with  commendable  self-posses 
sion,  but  bit  his  lip  as  he  discerned  the  humorous 
twitch  of  the  suave  Frenchman's  cheek,  and  stamped 


THE   VOUDOU.  183 

across  the  room  twice  after  his  exit  ere  he  would 
trust  himself  to  speak. 

"  There !  do  you  see  that? "  he  demanded.  "  Did 
you  note  his  meaning?  What  wonder  that  I  am 
half  distracted!  By  heavens!  if  the  banns  of  — of 
that  antique  and  myself  had  been  read  from  the 
altar,  people  could  not  take  more  fully  in  earnest  the 
fact  that  I  belong  to  her." 

"And  does  that  disturb  you,  mon  ami?"  asked 
Delogne,  trying  to  look  serious,  and  sorting  some 
papers  in  a  little  mahogany  case.  "  Do  you  fear  the 
lady  will  beat  a  retreat  because  of  the  general 
acceptance  of  the  fact?" 

"  A  retreat  ? "  growled  Constante.  "  Never  !  You 
don't  know  her.  Death  and  devils  !  —  to  think  that 
I  have  crossed  the  seas  only  to  fall  into  such  fortune  !" 

"  Pray  sit  down  and  tell  me  your  perplexities  with 
more  of  composure,"  suggested  Delogne.  "  Are 
those  sketches  you  carry?  I  should  like  to  be 
allowed  to  look  at  them  when  I  have  done  with 
these  documents." 

Constante  placed  the  portfolio  on  a  couch  of  old 
Spanish  leather,  and  walked  the  circuit  of  the  room, 
drawing  back  curtains,  pushing  aside  draperies,  and 
peering  into  every  shadowy  corner,  while  the  cheva 
lier  followed  him  with  surprised  eyes. 

"  On  my  life,  but  you  assume  strange  habits  in 
this  new  land,"  he  commented.  "  Will  you  be 
pleased  to  tell  me  for  what  you  are  searching  ? " 

"  Assuredly ;  for  something  I  am  by  no  means 
anxious  to  find  —  that  voudou  creature  with  the 
white  head.  You  are  a  braver  man  than  I,  Maurice, 


184  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

or  you  would  not  be  living  where  that  sphinx  is  one 
of  the  household.  Ugh  !  she  makes  my  flesh  creep 
if  she  only  turns  round  and  looks  at  me." 

u  But  do  you  not  perceive  it  would  be  impossible 
for  her  to  be  in  that  old  water-pitcher?"  laughed 
his  friend  ;  for  Raynel  was  in  all  seriousness  peering 
into  a  silver  pitcher  that  would  hold  oerhaps  a 
gallon. 

"  No ;  where  she  —  he  —  or  it  is  concerned  the  word 
'impossible'  is  not  to  be  applied,"  returned  the 
searcher.  "  Have  I  not  seen  her  suddenly  arise 
from  a  corner  where  no  human  thing  was  seen  but 
an  instant  before  ?  Do  you  remember  our  first  even 
ing  here,  and  how  suddenly  she  was  in  our  midst 
when  some  one  expressed  a  wish  for  her?  No ;  if  I 
rest  myself  here  for  a  chat  I  have  no  desire  that  her 
satanic  majesty  form  one  of  the  party.  Pray  tell 
me,  does  she  ever  in  the  world  do  aught  but  walk 
around  and  make  music  with  her  anklets?" 

"She  is  without  exception  the  most  devoted 
creature  to  her  master  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life,"  said  Delogne,  emphatically.  "She  seems  to 
divine  by  a  look  the  thing  he  wants,  while  to  the 
other  slaves  he  must  speak." 

11  If  she  would  only  speak  occasionally  she  might 
seem  a  bit  less  horrible  to  me;  but  she  moves 
about  so  silently,  and  looks  at  one  in  a  way  that  says 
she  could  say  so  much  if  she  only  wished  to.  I  tell 
you  I'm  as  bad  as  the  blacks;  I  would  not  meet  that 
creature  alone  on  a  dark  night  —  ugh  !  " 

And  he  shivered  at  the  mere  idea  of  it ;  but  hav 
ing  finished  his  survey,  he  seated  himself  and 


THE   VOUDOU.  185 

watched  Delogne,  who  was  looking  at  the  sketches 
in  the  portfolio. 

"  Some  of  these  are  very  interesting  sketches, 
Constante,"  he  acknowledged,  with  friendly  pride ; 
"  quite  the  best  things  I  have  seen  of  yours ;  and 
you  have  been  making  these  little  studies  in  such  a 
short  space  of  time,  too.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so 
industrious.  But  as  I  understand  your  present  work 
to  be  of  Senora  Zanalta,  how  do  you  manage  to 
accomplish  favorable  results  from  the  sketches  made 
of  Madame  Villette?" 

"  Eh  ?  Well  —  you  see  —  Poor  Raynel  looked 
red  and  uncomfortable. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  quite  clearly  —  case  999.  And  are 
these  sketches  the  reason  of  your  discontent  with 
your  present  portrait  work  ? " 

Constante  groaned,  and  tramped  about  the  room 
again. 

"  I  really  wish  you  would  not  do  that,"  complained 
Delogne ;  "  you  are  as  bad  for  one's  nerves  as  the 
voudou  woman.  Ah,  Constante,  you  are  ever  a 
slave  to  the  last  glance  shot  at  you  —  or  the  last  hand 
you  have  kissed." 

"Slave  !  —  not  a  bit  of  it,"  denied  the  poor  fellow 
with  unnecessary  vehemence.  "  But  what  is  a  man 
to  do  when  he  is  in  a  good  working  mood,  and  there 
is  only  one  thing  of  beauty  in  range  of  his  eyes  —  I 
ask  you  now,  what  is  he  to  do?" 

"  Just  what  you  have  done,  I  suppose,"  assented 
his  friend  ;  "but  does  not  Senora  Zanalta  grow  tired 
of  posing  while  you  make  sketches  of  the  younger 
lady?" 


186  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Tired  !  —  you  evidently  have  not  the  happiness 
of  knowing  Senora  Mercedes  Zanalta  very  well. 
If  she  wears  all  her  jewels,  and  her  brocades,  and 
has  her  hair  dressed  to  her  taste,  she  never  grows 
tired  —  not  for  one  instant  will  she  leave  that 
throne-like  chair  of  hers,  or  the  room." 

"  And  Madame  Villette?" 

"  The  most  provoking,  bewitching,  and  mischiev 
ous  lady  it  has  ever  been  my  perplexed  fortune  to 
meet.  She  assumes  all  the  airs  of  a  chaperonne  in 
guard  over  a  treasure  I  might  be  tempted  to  steal 
—  think  of  it !  She  is  gracious  to  me  at  times  in  a 
lofty  manner,  as  though  to  remind  me  that  I  am 
after  all  only  an  artisan  while  she  is  a  grand  lady  of 
rank  —  ah,  this  cursed  caste  !  it  rules  here  as  in  our 
own  land ;  but  then  there  are  other  times  when 
she  grows  charming,  and  laughs  like  a  child,  and 
makes  many  a  jest  of  both  the  portrait  and  artist,  as 
though  she  knew  that  the  work  on  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  me.  She  said  to-day  that  of  course  she  dared  not 
hope  that  the  portrait  I  am  to  make  of  her  will  be 
such  a  treasure  as  that  I  am  doing  now,  and  that  it 
was  easy  to  perceive  that  my  heart  was  in  the 
work.  Ah  !  women  were  given  so  many  modes  of 
warfare." 

"  One  can  combat  those  who  make  war,  and  per 
haps  vanquish  them,"  commented  Delogne,  with  an 
impatient  sigh;  "but  how  much  more  difficult 
when  one's  fair  adversary  walks  unconscious  past 
you,  or  tells  her  beads  when  you  would  endeavor  to 
meet  her  glance." 

"  vSo  !  — blows  the  wind  with  such  a  storm  in  that 


THE   VOUDOU.  187 

direction  ?  Ah,  well ;  a  novice  can  not  prove  nearly 
so  vexatious  as  a  widow  —  of  that  I  am  sure.  But 
do  you  really  mean  that  Mademoiselle  Denise  refuses 
to  entertain  any  regard  whatever  for  you  —  and 
after  you  saving  her  life,  too  ? " 

"  Entertain  a  regard  !  I  have  never  yet  dared  to 
suggest  such  a  thing.  Indeed,  she  seems  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  I  am  in  the  world.  To 
be  sure  she  spoke  sweetly  that  night  — that  one 
night;  but  when  I  called  to  inquire  about  her,  it 
was  the  lady  abbess  who  received  me,  and  bestowed 
gracious  thanks,  but  with  it  a  wall  of  reserve  con 
cerning  the  mademoiselle,  and  mademoiselle  herself 
has  evidently  acquired  a  share  of  it.  She  walks  no 
more  in  the  evenings,  and  she  will  not  give  me  a 
look." 

"  Willingly  would  I  assist  you  if  my  wits  would 
but  tell  me  how.  I  might  of  course  break  an  arm 
or  two  for  you  so  that  you  could  gain  an  entrance  to 
the  hospital.  You  know  she  entertains  a  lively 
interest  for  cripples." 

"  Possibly,  but  I  will  not  put  your  friendship  to 
such  a  test  as  maiming  me  ;  and  —  ah,  well  —  even 
that  might  fail  to  overcome  her  indifference.  She 
simply  does  not  think  of  me,  and  of  course  there  is 
no  visible  reason  why  she  should." 

"  How  modest  we  are  growing  !  "  remarked  Raynel, 
mockingly.  •'  But  really  it  is  a  most  fatal  sign  when 
one  begins  to  fancy  himself  unfit  even  for  a  lackey 
to  his  lady-love.  I've  felt  so,  often,  but  I  always 
realize  through  that  feeling  that  I  am  growing 
serious,  and  when  one  grows  serious  —  well,  the 


188  FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

pain  of  love  begins,  and  the  laughter  of  it  is 
ended." 

"  You  speak  as  a  professor  of  the  art,  if  art  it  be," 
remarked  Delogne,  with  some  displeasure  apparent  in 
his  tone.  "  For  my  part,  I  should  not  fancy  the  love 
turned  out  by  your  academy.  The  lesson  of  love 
would  surely  read  more  musically  from  not  having 
been  studied  at  all." 

"  Interesting  as  the  subject  is,  I  fear  we  must  defer 
it,"  sighed  Raynel,  gathering  up  his  sketches,  "  for 
see !  there  come  some  gentlemen.  Is  not  the  one 
Senor  Ronando?  The  other  is  Villeneuve." 

"  Yes ;  and  a  most  pleasant  gentleman.  Of  all  the 
youth  in  this  town  I  like  him  the  best." 

"And  the  other?" 

"  Ah,  I  have  not  the  privilege  of  knowing  Senor 
Ronando  well."  And  the  chevalier  went  forward  to 
meet  the  gentlemen,  while  Raynel  smiled  and  told 
himself  that,  after  all,  Maurice  might  turn  diplomat 
in  the  school  of  Orleans. 

"Gone  out  —  gone  out,  has  he?  "  sputtered  Senor 
Ronando,  who  was  very  fat  and  very  short  of  breath. 
"  Ah  —  ah !  that  is  a  disappointment.  It  is  seldom  I 
walk  to  any  man's  house,  and  now  to  find  him  out ! 
Well,  well,  I  will  seat  myself  and  recover  my 
breath ;  patience  may  come  with  it.  And  may  I 
ask,  my  young  sir,. who  you  may  be  that  receives 
guests  in  the  absence  of  Monsieur  Lamort?" 

"Allow  me  to  remind  you,"  said  Villeneuve, 
quickly,  "  that  this  is  the  Chevalier  Delogne,  late  of 
Versailles,  and  at  present  of  the  household  of  Mon 
sieur  Lamort.  You  met  him  but  yesterday  in  the 
house  of  my  father." 


THE   VOUDOU.  189 

"  Possibly,  possibly."  And  the  old  gentleman  took 
snuff  with  a  fine  air  of  indifference.  "  One  can  not 
remember  all  the  new  faces  crowding  into  our  town 
since  this  uproar  commenced  in  France  —  a  most 
ungodly  country,  let  them  say  what  they  will.  And 
so  you  are  the  newcomer  whom  Lamort  honors 
with  his  confidence,  eh  ?  Yes,  I  heard  of  it  —  a 
secretary.  One  would  think  he  was  the  keeper  of  the 
colony  that  he  must  have  so  many  helpers."  And  the 
caller  looked  sharply  at  Constante,  who  returned  his 
stare  with  great  serenity. 

"  Monsieur  Lamort  is  certainly  a  very  busy  man," 
agreed  Delogne,  with  cool  courtesy,  for  Villeneuve's 
eyes  mutely  asked  toleration  for  the  old  man  ;  "  and 
I  am  proud  to  be  the  assistant  of  one  so  worthy." 

"  Aye,  aye,  no  doubt ;  but  say  what  you  will,  it 
makes  trouble  in  a  country  when  any  one  wants 
business  so  much  that  he  turns  the  laws  topsy 
turvy  for  pastime." 

"  Monsieur  Lamort  lives  for  more  than  pastime," 
remarked  Raynel,  coolly.  "  He  evidently  tries  to 
improve  his  time,  and  times." 

"  Hah  !  what's  that  ?  "  And  Senor  Ronando  whirled 
about,  facing  the  speaker.  "  Since  you  have  such 
learned  ideas,  I  should  like  to  know  by  what  name 
you  are  called." 

"  By  the  same  as  at  this  time  yesterday,  at  which 
hour  I  had  the  honor  to  be  introduced  to  you,  Senor 
Ronando,"  returned  Constante,  and  turned  away 
after  a  bow  excessively  humble,  while  the  impa 
tient  old  gentleman  blinked  his  eyes  in  utter  aston 
ishment.  For  Senor  Jesus  Maria  Pietro  Ronando 


190  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

was  a  very  great  personage  on  his  own  lands,  and 
was  accustomed  to  much  of  submission  to  his  ideas. 
"Humph!  More  floatings  from  Versailles,"  he 
murmured,  audibly.  "  Well,  Sir  Secretary,  can  you 
give  me  an  idea  at  what  hour  Monsieur  Lamort 
would  be  pleased  to  return  here?  Gaston  Ville- 
neuve  here  will  tell  you  I  am  not  used  to  waiting  in 
an  anteroom  for  an  audience." 

"  Truly  not,"  agreed  the  embarrassed  Villeneuve. 
"  And  may  I  beg  to  remind  you,  senor,  that  Cheva 
lier  Maurice  Delogne  is  also  unaccustomed  to  the 
speech  one  offers  to  an  ordinary  clerk.  His  family 
is  noble  as  any  in  our  land.  Pray  remember,  my 
dear  senor." 

"  Assuredly  —  yes,"  returned  the  other,  with  slight 
attention.  "  Of  late  all  who  land  with  us  are  nobles, 
it  seems ;  yet  where  is  the  advantage  of  noble 
blood  when  a  stranger  without  family,  a  merce 
nary  heretic,  can  land  here  and  turn  laws  crooked 
with  the  power  of  a  purse?  Our  family  is  older 
than  the  laws  of  Spain  over  this  country,  yet  must 
I  run  to  a  newcomer  if  I  want  justice  secured. 
Bah !  even  our  governor  is  influenced  by  this  law 
maker  who  prays  in  no  church." 

Villeneuve  drew  him  to  a  window  and  spoke  to 
him  alone,  trying  to  quell  his  impatience  and  ill 
temper ;  and  the  other  two  strove  for  the  young 
man's  sake  to  give  no  heed  to  the  very  awkward 
comments. 

"  An  ill-trained  bear  native  to  this  wilderness,  I 
suppose,"  remarked  Raynel,  who  was  more  vexed 
than  his  friend.  "  My  only  wonder  is  that  the  colony 


THE   VOUDOU.  191 

has  allowed  him  to  live  so  long.  I  have  heard  often 
of  the  beauty  of  Spanish  courtesy.  Is  this  the  much- 
commended  thing  ? " 

"  Do  not  believe  it,"  said  Delogne,  decidedly. 
"  He  is  a  bully  who  scolds,  who  catches  words  from 
sailors,  and  tone  from  the  northern  English,  and 
between  them  the  grace  of  Spain  is  lost  to  him  —  if 
he  ever  did  possess  it ;  but  he  is  old,  he  is  annoyed, 
so  be  heedless  of  him." 

"  Humph  !  If  I  promise  not  to  kill  him  it  will  be 
all  my  conscience  will  let  me  agree  to,"  decided 
Raynel,  with  a  pantomime  of  pitching  articles  of 
furniture  at  the  fat  old  aristocrat  in  the  window, 
who  was  viewing  the  grounds  and  property  with 
the  eyes  of  reminiscence. 

"  This  too  —  one  of  the  most  excellent  estates  in 
the  colony  —  it  is  grievous,  Gaston,  to  think  that  it 
too  is  mastered  by  a  newcomer.  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
he  is  thought  much  of  by  you,  and  many  of  the 
others  ;  but  I  am  no  courtier,  I  thank  the  saints  !  I 
say  what  I  choose  when  I  have  the  reasons  of  a 
Christian.  And  if  the  dead  could  walk,  then  would 
Le  Noyens  surely  come  to  protest  against  a  heretic 
slave-law  agitator  dwelling  under  the  roof  built  by 
him.  Ah,  he  was  a  man  for  the  country.  Your 
father  knew  him  well  —  a  fair  gentleman,  who 
ruled  the  blacks  to  his  nod,  and  would  brook  no 
w'ord  as  to  the  mastering  of  his  own  household. 
Alas !  I  was  like  him  once,  but  now  I  grow  old." 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  the  tragic  story  of  his  end 
ing,"  returned  Villeneuve,  glad  to  keep  the  vindic 
tive  mind  beside  him  engaged.  "  Was  there  not  a 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

song  made  of  it?  — as  a  child  I  heard  one  sung  by 
my  nurse.  It  was  interminable,  for  each  singer 
added  to  it  as  his  fancy  prompted  him.  I  know  I  was 
kept  quiet  many  a  time  by  our  Susette  chanting : 

Ohe!     Bayarde  the  ranger 

Did  the  deed  —  the  dark  deed! 
Listen,  children  —  listen,  stranger! 

Never  more  will  he  be  freed. 

Chains  a-dragging 

All  along  the  road, 
Back  all  broken 
Underneath  the  load. 

Listen,  children! 
And  take  warning, 

Chained  in  the  mine-land 
You  never  see  the  morning. 
Ohe!  — children! 
All  good  children!  " 

The  young  man  chanted  the  lines  slowly,  with 
sometimes  a  pause  in  the  effort  at  remembrance, 
and  the  older  gentleman  nodded  assent  and  beat 
time  with  his  gold-crowned  walking-stick. 

"You  keep  the  swing  of  the  old  song  well," 
he  said.  "  Yes,  yes ;  every  child  heard  it  in  that  day, 
for  the  tragedy  was  a  famous  one  because  of  the 
woman  in  it  —  there  is  always  a  woman,  you  know,  in 
the  troubles  of  every  man ;  or  maybe  you  do  not 
know  it  yet,  but  you  will." 

Because  of  their  position  they  had  not  observed 
Monsieur  Lamort,  who  had  entered  and  halted  only 
a  few  steps  from  them,  and  who  now  came  forward 
with  his  usual  calm  courtesy. 

"  Monsieur  DeWne  wished  to  apprise  you  of  my 


THE   YOUDOU.  193 

return,  but  I  motioned  for  silence  that  I  might  the 
better  hear  the  strange  folk-song  you  were  singing. 
It  is  something  native  to  the  soil,  I  imagine?" 

"Yes;  the  rhymed  history  of  a  tragedy  Senor 
Ronando  was  recalling  to  my  mind.  Among  the 
illiterate  that  fashion  of  memorizing  is  quite  popular 
here.  An  elopement,  a  murder,  or  even  a  grand 
wedding  is  made  into  song  and  sung  to  the  children  ; 
it  is  their  only  way  of  handing  down  traditions,  and 
is  very  popular  among  the  black  people." 

"I  have  heard  of  their  custom."  And  Monsieur 
Lamort  looked  like  one  who  is  striving  to  be  inter 
ested  while  the  mind  is  really  in  some  other  direc 
tion.  "  And  this  song,  is  it  of  a  grand  wedding  —  and 
the  histories  of  all  the  children  that  result  ?  One  of 
those  songs  I  have  heard  here  ;  it  told  of  a  family  for 
three  generations." 

"  On  the  contrary,  this  one  is  of  murder  and  exile," 
answered  Senor  Ronando.  "  A  well-earned  exile,  in 
which  I  am  proud  to  say  I  assisted  —  a  foul  murder 
of  a  gallant  gentleman." 

"  Ah  !  You  had  personal  knowledge  of  this  par 
ticular  tragedy  ?  I  understand,  then,  the  interest  of 
Monsieur  Villeneuve  in  the  song.  Has  it  a  name  ?  " 

" '  Bayarde,  the  Ranger,'  is  the  only  one  I  ever 
heard  it  called  by,"  answered  the  young  man.  4t  And 
many  a  doleful  moment  did  I  pass  when  as  a  child 
I  heard  that  song  of  the  chains,  and  the  mines 
where  the  sunlight  was  never  supposed  to  penetrate. 
It  brought  me  the  first  suggestion  of  life-long  pun 
ishment  that  ever  came  to  me.  Such  things  are 
landmarks  in  the  thought  of  a  child." 

13 


194  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Truly  they  are,"  assented  Lamort,  and  glanced 
at  Delogne.  "  It  seems,  Chevalier,  that  we  are  to 
hear  much  of  this  De  Bayarde,  though  so  little  of  the 
more  respectable  bearer  of  the  name ;  but  faults 
will  win  attention,  while  virtues  are  too  often 
unheeded." 

"  Bosh  !  "  And  Senor  Ronando  showed  in  his  fat 
face  his  satisfaction  at  possessing  knowledge  beyond 
the  rest.  "  That  may  be  a  fact,  but  in  this  case  it 
was  not  the  crime  he  committed  which  made  him 
famous  in  the  provinces,  but  the  fact  that  the  dain 
tiest  sefiorita  in  all  these  lands  had  opened  her  lattice 
for  his  serenades  —  that  is  the  thing  which  made  him 
talked  of ;  and  strange  stories  were  afloat  of  dawns 
when  she  had  been  seen  stepping  from  his  canoe  and 
speeding  through  these  gardens  to  a  door  left  open. 
And  there  must  have  been  some  truth  in  it,  else 
would  she  have  gone  mad,  as  they  say  she  did?  " 

11  The  horror  of  the  murder  may  have  been  suffi 
cient  reason  for  that,"  suggested  Delogne.  But  the 
senor  looked  displeasure  at  having  the  truth  of  his 
theory  questioned  in  the  slightest. 

"  I  have  reasons  for  my  suppositions,  young  sir," 
he  said,  tartly.  "  Her  uncle  was  my  friend  —yes, 
gentlemen,  my  friend,  and  a  true  son  of  the  church 
—  the  vsaints  find  him  rest !  So  I  was  one  who  knew 
her  only  female  relative  in  this  land  ;  and  that  lady, 
Madame  Solle  (dead  these  several  years),  took  charge 
of  her,  and  had  a  grievous  time  of  it  by  her  own 
statement,  for  the  girl  Felice  raved  for  months, 
shouting  for  '  Basil' — that  was  the  fellow's  name  - 
until  the  blacks  feared  to  sleep  in  the  house  with 


THE  VOUDOU.  195 

her.  She  could  not  be  kept  in  the  town  at  all,  and 
so  was  taken  miles  up  the  river  to  a  small  plantation 
of  the  Solle  family.  Her  grave  is  there,  they  say, 
and  I  suppose  that  of  her  child." 

"Child!  Oh,  I  never  heard  of  that,"  said  Villc- 
neuve ;  and  Sefior  Ronando  blinked  with  unctuous 
satisfaction. 

<'  I  thought  not.  I  thought  I  could  tell  you  some 
thing  of  that  story  —  something  you  had  never  heard. 
Well,  the  family  is  all  gone  now ;  none  is  left  to  bear 
the  disgrace.  But,  ah  !  how  Madame  Solle  raved 
over  it !  My  wife  lived  then  ;  she  was  her  confidante 
-she  knew.  And  when  they  died,  Felice  and  her 
ranger's  brat,  Madame  Solle  had  them  interred  on 
the  plantation,  with  never  a  white  friend  near,  not 
even  a  priest.  But  then  the  poor  woman  was  half 
mad  herself,  and  no  one  judged  her  coldly.  For  if 
the  soul  of  Felice  was  lost  for  lack  of  the  sacraments 
-well,  it  was  only  a  fault  of  her  own.  To  think  of 
such  a  fine  creature  turning  into  a  light  love  for  a 
voyagcur  —  those  animals  who  have  a  wife  in  each 
Indian  tribe  they  visit !  Was  it  not  deplorable  ?  " 

"Such  things  always  are,"  assented  Monsieur 
Lamort.  "And  yet  — well,  they  have  been,  and 
will  be." 

But  he  sighed  as  he  spoke,  and  his  face  looked  as 
sad  as  his  words.  Delogne  glancing  at  him  thought 
what  a  generous  heart  was  his  that  had  a  sigh  ami  a 
tone  of  compassion  for  the  actors  in  that  long-dead 
tragedy. 

'Will  you  not  be  seated,  monsieur?"  he  asked, 
coming  forward  with  a  chair.  "  You  have  perhaps 


196  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

walked  rapidly  and  grown  tired,  for  you  are  paler 
than  when  you  went  out." 

Lamort  wheeled  about  as  though  vexed  at  being 
supposed  feeble,  but  recovering  himself,  declined 
the  proffered  courtesy  with  a  gesture. 

"  Thanks,  Chevalier  ;  I  am  a  little  tired,  but  that  is 
no  excuse  for  me  resting  so  early  in  the  day.  I  only 
returned  because  I  heard  Senor  Ronando  had  come 
this  morning  to  make  me  a  special  business  visit. 
So,  my  dear  senor,  I  have  postponed  my  other  work 
for  this  part  of  the  day  and  am  at  your  service." 

"  Work,  work  !  "  grunted  Ronando,  with  grim  lips. 
"  Has  Orleans  Island  become  such  a  place  of  turmoil 
that  all  repose  is  driven  from  it  by  this  eagerness  to 
work  ?  Monsieur  Lamort,  when  we  get  gray  in  our 
hair  we  have  surely  earned  the  right  to  sit  in  the 
shade  and  leave  the  work  to  younger  hands." 

"  Right  enough,"  assented  the  other;  u  and  yet  a 
slothful  old  age  is  a  bad  example  for  youth  to  pat 
tern  from,  and  some  men  love  action  better  than 
repose.  I,  perhaps,  am  one  of  them.  And  now  that 
I  am  here,  tell  me  in  what  way  I  can  serve  you." 

Senor  Ronando  blinked  at  him  in  indecision.  He 
did  not  fancy  much  this  courteous  newcomer  who 
parried  his  thrusts  of  speech  and  was  so  quietly  con 
fident  of  himself. 

"  Well,  monsieur,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  — that,  in 
fact,  Don  Diego  Zanalta  was  to  have  met  me  here. 
He  knows  my  business,  and  knows  more  of  law 
crooks  than  do  I.  Can  not  we  await  his  arrival  ?  " 

"  Assuredly.  Meanwhile  we  will  have  a  glass  of 
wine  in  the  court  within.  The  air  is  more  pleasing 


THE   VOUDOU.  197 

there,  I  fancy.    Will  you  come  with  us,  young  gentle 
men,  or  have  you  other  plans  of  entertainment  ?" 

"  I  have  those  papers  yet  to  arrange,"  said  De- 
lo^ne.  "  Our  artist  here  is  going  to  attempt  a  sketch 
of  Monsieur  Villeneuve,  and  as  the  breakfast-room 
has  the  best  light  they  were  about  to  ask  for  pos 
session  of  it." 

"At  their  service  —  all  my  house,"  nodded  La- 
mort,  and  led  Senor  Ronando  through  the  arched 
door  into  the  court  where  the  palms  grew,  and 
where  blossoms  hung  heavy  and  fragrant  against 
the  lattice-work  of  the  verandas. 

Delogne  was  left  sorting  the  papers  according  to 
the  labels.  Several  of  them,  tied  with  black  cord 
and  yellow  and  brittle  with  age,  were  to  go  in  a  case 
by  themselves;  the  rest  were  to  go  in  the  great 
locked  drawers  of  a  mahogany  cabinet  standing 
against  the  wall. 

Having  concluded  the  task,  he  looked  in  vain 
for  the  key  to  the  drawers;  but  it  had  been  mis 
laid.  He  looked  on  the  cabinet,  even  in  the  port 
folio  on  the  couch,  and  felt  in  his  pockets. 

Then  he  remembered  he  had  changed  his  coat 
just  before  Constante  had  entered,  and  the  key  had 
no  doubt  been  left  in  the  other  garment. 

He  had  but  left  the  room  when  Raynel  reentered. 

"Where  are  those  drawings,  Maurice?  Oh,  here 
they  are,  though  you  are  not."  And  he  bent  over  the 
portfolio  to  select  some  certain  bits  of  paper. 

Suddenly  the  couch  on  which  the  drawings  lay 
moved.  He  had  not  touched  it;  he  knew  he  had 
not  touched  it,  yet  it  had  certainly  'moved,  and 
toward  him. 


198  A   FLOWER    OF   FRANCE. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair  as  though  to 
level  the  curls  suddenly  grown  bristling,  and  his 
eyes  grew  wondrous  large  as  he  let  fall  the  drawings 
and  stepped  backward,  for  not  only  the  couch,  but  a 
bear's  hide,  seemed  possessed  by  something  infernal 
and  moved  on  the  floor. 

And  then,  carelessly  uncoiling,  Venda  arose  before 
him,  and  stooped  to  pick  up  the  scattered  drawings 
—  never  speaking.  She  looked  at  him  over  her 
shoulder,  and  he  thought  she  was  laughing  at  him. 
Really  she  was  not,  but  his  earnest  dread  of  her 
made  everything  she  did  significant  and  of  much 
meaning  to  him.  When  she  stood  straight  before 
him  and  offered  him  the  bits  of  paper,  he  seized 
them  and  commenced  a  detour  for  the  door,  not 
desiring  to  even  turn  his  back  on  her. 

But  on  reaching  the  threshold  his  eyes  wandered 
an  instant  from  her  white-framed  face  of  bronze  to 
that  spot  where  she  had  lain  flat  on  the  floor  be 
neath  the  skin  of  the  black  bear.  He  would  not 
have  been  much  surprised  to  see  numberless  little 
black  imps  of  darkness  creep  forth  in  her  wake, 
all  with  shiny,  strange  eyes  and  white  hair,  and 
form  around  the  couch  where  he  had  been  seated 
and  expressed  adverse  criticism  on  that  voudou.  He 
had  never  before  thought  himself  a  coward,  but  a 
most  troublesome  trembling  seized  his  knees,  and 
the  chill  of  horror  wavered  over  him  as  he  remem 
bered  his  words ;  and  he  hastened  back  to  his 
waiting  model,  with  the  self-query  as  to  whether  it 
would  be  possible  to  frustrate  by  either  charms  or 
prayers  the  potency  of  voudou  spells. 


THE   VOUDOU.  199 

But  Venda  gave  little  heed  to  his  presence.     She 
sat  again  on  the  rug  near  the  couch,  where  she  mut 
tered,  rocking  from  side  to  side,  and  nodding  her 
head  as  though  some  feeling  —  it  seemed  anger  — 
was  too  strong  in  her  for  utter  silence. 

If  Constante  could  have  seen  her  thus !  Then 
another  step  sounded  on  the  tiled  floor,  and  she 
turned  with  eager  eyes  to  the  door. 

"  Master,  my  master !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  ven 
eration  so  profound  as  to  resemble  that  of  a  pagan 
who  bows  to  an  idol.  And  as  he  entered  she  moved 
to  him  with  silent  haste. 

"You,  Venda?"  he  observed,  with  that  gracious 
manner  he  always  had  for  his  bond-slaves.  He  was 
to  Venda  as  to  the  others,  though  he  watched  her 
with  more  interest  than  the  other  blacks  —  she  .sug 
gested  so  much  more ;  and  then  she  was  ever  so 
strangely  near  when  he  needed  her. 

"Yes,  master,"  she  answered,  bending  before  him 
and  holding  her  hands  tight-clasped,  as  one  who 
would  put  restraint  upon  himself.  u  Is  Venda 
needed  ?" 

"Some  one  is,  and  you  are  ever  nearest  to  my 
hand,"  he  replied.  "  We  want  coffee  there  in  the 
court.  You  made  it  pleasant  to  the  taste  yesterday  ; 
bring  us  more  like  that.  I  looked  in  here  for  Chev 
alier  Delogne.  Send  him  to  me  if  he  is  within,  and 
then  bring  the  coffee." 

"Yes,  master.     Master  — 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  him  with  a  gaze  so 
concentrated,  so  searching,  that  he  unconsciously 
stepped  back  from  her. 


200  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Speak,  Venda !  What  have  you  to  say  to  me  ? " 
"  What  I  say  to  you  ?  Oam-me  !  The  words,  they 
here,"  and  she  pointed  to  her  throat.  "  They  don't 
come  clear,  maybe ;  but  master  —  good  Master 
Lamort,  you  called  just  —  you  called  right  —  but  you 
drink  coffee  with  that"  —and  she  pointed  with 
growing  rage  toward  Senor  Ronando  —  "  you  drink 
friends  with  him  ?  I  look  in  your  eyes,  but  no  see. 
Master,  Venda  see  some  things  clear ;  she  see  pain 
long  ago  —  long  ago  when  that  man  judge,  when 
that  man  help  put'  chains  on  where  they  no  have 
right.  She  hear  lady  scream  all  the  night  like  he 
laugh,  and  tell  of  —  scream  for  the  man  they  put  in 
chains.  Master,  he  comes  to  ask  favor  of  you  —  much 
favor.  Hate  is  in  his  heart,  but  he  asks  favor. 
When  he  says  the  words,  when  he  waits  you  to  speak, 
oh,  master,  think  in  your  heart  of  the  man  who 
laughed  at  the  cries  of  the  lily-white  lady.  Master, 
he  has  ever  been  as  a  tiger  in  a  jungle  ;  every  fawn 
drinking  at  the  brook  was  food  for  him ;  every 
fruit  ripening  in  the  sun  he  put  out  his  hand  to.  So 
he  put  out  his  hand  to  the  sweet  Ma'm'selle  Felice. 
So  he  wrongs  her  in  his  words  because  she  did  walk 
ever  away  from  him  as  one  walks  from  a  snake  if  it 
comes  close  with  its  poison.  So  it  is  with  the  father, 
so  it  is  with  the  son.  Oh,  master  !  you  smile  kind 
on  him,  and  Venda  —  Venda  afraid.  But  when  he 
ask  favor  of  you  —  favor  for  his  son  there  at  the 
judge  place  —  then  —  then  do  not  forget  the  lily 
Lady  Felice,  and  the  judges  who  said,  '  Let  him 
suffer.'  Oh,  master  — 

"  Cease  !  "  commanded  her  master,  and  his  voice 


THE   VOUDOU.  201 

was  low  and  strained.  His  face,  pale  before,  was 
colorless  under  trie  fierceness  and  pleading  of  her 
words.  He  stood  quite  still  looking  at  her,  when  all 
at  once  his  eyes  closed ;  he  staggered  slightly,  reach 
ing  out  his  hand  mechanically  as  though  for  sup 
port. 

But  he  did  not  fall,  only  leaned  on  her  quickly 
proffered  shoulder,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  —  a  hand  cold  and  damp,  as  she  found  when  it 
touched  her  own.  Then  with  an  effort  he  drew  him 
self  erect  with  a  determined  air  and  walked  unaided 
to  the  couch. 

"  Some  hate  of  yours  has  made  you  blindly  mad, 
I  fear,  Venda,"  he  said,  reprovingly,  "  and  I  am  not 
well  enough  for  agitating  discussions  this  morning. 
So  if  in  the  future  you  have  a  cause  to  plead,  pray 
do  so  with  less  of  violence,  and  remember,  no  more 
words  such  as  you  spoke  just  now  ;  they  are  useless. 
I  have  decided  what  I  shall  do,  and  words  from 
others  will  have  no  weight.  You  make  good  coffee, 
Venda,  but  when  I  want  your  advice  in  other  things 
I  will  ask  for  it.  Now  go,  my  good  girl ;  make  the 
coffee,  but  I  warn  you  if  you  should  think  of  putting 
in  poison  for  Senor  Ronando  that  I  am  to  drink 
it  too." 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  did  not  look  at  her.  His 
head  was  bent  on  his  hand  in  an  attitude  of  weari 
ness  ;  but  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  strange 
vengeful  creature  knelt  for  one  instant  beside  him 
as  at  an  altar,  and  then  passed  out  as  she  was 
bidden.  Over  her  lips  was  pressed  one  of  her  hands. 
He  felt  strangely  the  sense  of  her  devotion  to 


202  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

him,  but  did  not  know  it  was  the  hand  his  own 
fingers  had  touched  when  he  reached  out  to  her  for 
support. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST. 

IN  the  garden  of  the  Ursulines  there  walked  in 
the  sweet  breath  of  the  early  day  two  women.  One, 
a  sad-eyed,  beautiful  woman,  whose  expression  was 
one  of  peaceful  repose,  spoke  earnestly  to  the  other, 
who  was  Denise. 

"  But,  my  child,  I  am  not  supreme  here ;  it  is  to 
our  mother  superior  you  must  go  for  direction  in 
this.  And  if  the  man  but  only  look  at  you  — " 

"  Ah,  Sister  Andrea,  his  words  have  been  spoken 
often  —  words  such  as  are  spoken  by  courtiers,  I 
think,  but  I  fear  them  —  I  fear  them  !  All  the  more 
since  that  night  when  the  blacks  did  seize  me.  I 
dare  not  accuse  him  lest  I  be  wrong,  yet  I  felt  that 
only  he  could  have  done  it ;  and  when  I  met  him  last 
evening  I  grew  ill  and  weak  at  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
People  say  he  is  a  good  Catholic,  and  he  does  give 
to  my  poor,  yet  do  I  fear  he  is  evil." 

"Your  heart  tells  you  truly,"  said  Sister  Andrea, 
thoughtfully.  "Then  why  not  leave  the  charity 
work  to  others  who  would  be  in  less  danger? " 

u  But  my  poor  people  would  miss  me  —  I  would 
miss  them,"  answered  the  girl,  quickly.  "That  is 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  203 

why  I  fear  to  go  to  our  mother ;  she  is  so  decided, 
she  would  say,  '  Well,  since  you  are  afraid,  I  will 
give  you  a  class  to  teach,  and  you  need  never  go 
without  the  gate.'  But  I  love  to  pass  the  gate;  of 
course  I  am  glad  to  come  back  to  it  again,  but  some 
times  I  fear  it  would  not  be  so  dear  to  me  if  I  was 
once  bound  to  remain  within  it  always.  It  is  wicked 
of  me,  perhaps,  sister" — and  she  bowed  her  head 
humbly  — "  but  I  do  not  think  I  could  be  happy 
under  bonds  of  any  kind,  not  even  of  the  convent. 
I  want  to  do  the  work  of  it  always,  but  I  want  to 
work  free.  That  is  self-pride,  I  know,  and  it  is 
strong  in  me." 

"  It  is  strong  in  all  youth,"  agreed  the  older 
woman.  "  The  years  wear  it  away,  however,  from 
many  hearts.  It  may  prove  so  with  you,  so  be  not 
vexed  with  your  own  self." 

"  Ah,  sister,  you  are  ever  kind  to  my  faults,  ever 
excusing  me  to  myself."  And  Denise  pressed  fondly 
the  hand  of  the  nun.  "  I  never  knew  what  a  mother 
was,  but  I  used  to  long  blindly  for  a  mother's  love 
—  always,  always  I  would  dream  of  a  face  I  thought 
my  mother's.  But  in  the  year  of  the  great  sick 
ness  here,  when  you  came  from  the  convent  across 
the  water,  and  you  looked  in  my  eyes  and  said,  *  I 
am  glad  you  are  the  convent  child,  for  I  shall  love 
to  have  you  near  me '--well,  dear  Sister  Andrea, 
I  never  longed  so  for  a  mother  after  that ;  but  at 
times  a  great  dread  comes  over  me  for  fear  that 
you  may  leave  us  too  at  some  distant  call  of  distress, 
and  then  —  then  this  island  would  seem  to  me  deso 
late  as  the  winter-time  of  the  north  country." 


204  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

A  faint  smile,  caressive  as  an  embrace,  touched 
the  beautiful  lips  of  Sister  Andrea. 

"  Fear  no  sorrow  until  it  touches  you,  Denise," 
she  said,  gently.  "  But  we  need  never  be  far  apart 
in  this  world  if  we  wish  to  be  together.  Have  you 
never  known  that  in  all  my  eight  years  of  life  here 
my  bonds  to  the  order  are  so  lax  that  I  am  allowed 
to  follow  my  own  desires  as  to  my  place  of  abode  ? 
I  wished  it  so  at  first  that  I  might  be  free  to  offer 
my  help  in  sickness  or  battle— any  place  my  con 
science  and  duty  led  me.  So  you  see,  my  child,  my 
bonds  are  scarcely  stronger  than  your  own.  I  go 
where  my  duty  calls  me." 

"  Ah,  sister  !  —  and  I  never  knew  !  Do  you  know 
I  am  happy  at  what  you  tell  me  —  and  also  aston 
ished?  You  nurse  the  sick,  you  are  devoted  to  good, 
but  you  never  go  without  the  gates ;  I  always  thought 
you  had  taken  vows  to  never  look  beyond  these 
walls." 

"  No ;  those  vows  were  not  for  me.  But  this 
morning  we  were  to  speak  of  you,  not  of  myself.  I 
am  concerned  because  of  the  persecution  of  this 
Senor  Zanalta.  I  would  we  had  the  advice  of  some 
one  out  in  the  world,  some  one  who  could  not  be 
awed  by  his  position." 

"  I  know  of  such  a  one  —  of  two,  but  it  would  ill 
become  a  maid  to  seek  them  ;  at  least  our  mother  did 
speak  chidingly  once  because  he  walked  home  with 
me  in  the  dark,  or  rather  because  he  called  to  see 
me  the  day  after." 

"Ah!  — he?"  And  the  eyes  of  Sister  Andrea 
smiled  at  the  shy  confession.  "  You  commenced  to 


ECHOES   FROM    THE    PAST.  205 

tell  me  of  two,  and  end  by  speaking  of  only  him. 
Have  they  names  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Victor  Lamort  is  the  other  one,"  ex 
plained  the  girl,  with  an  appealing  upward  glance. 

"  The  other  one  —  and  who  is  the  one  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sister,  it  amuses  you  to  confuse  me,  and  in 
truth  it  is  not  hard  to  do  it;  but  I  spoke  of  the 
gentleman,  a  chevalier  of  France,  who  came  to  my 
rescue  that  night,  he  and  his  friend  —  the  name  is 
Delogne." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  they  are  at  once  knights  of 
chivalry  to  maidenhood.  You  need  not  blush,  child  ; 
only  it  is  well  to  remember,  Denise,  that  a  foundling 
of  the  convent  gate  and  a  chevalier  of  France  are 
widely  set  apart  by  the  rules  of  the  world  he  lives 
in  —  do  you  understand  ? " 

"  Yes,  sister  "-  —  and  the  young  face  was  not  so  rosy 
as  she  bowed  her  head  — "  I  hear,  and  will  remember. 
It  was  so  that  the  good  mother  admonished  me  after 
she  had  spoken  with  him,  but  her  words  hurt  more 
than  yours,  dear  Sister  Andrea." 

"  Well,  well ;  our  mother  superior  has  many  things 
to  think  of  where  we  have  only  one,  Denise,  and  we 
must  save  her  care  when  we  can.  Now  why  not 
confess  to  Monsieur  Lamort  that  you  did  suspect  your 
assailant  that  night  on  his  grounds?  You  say  he 
is  a  powerful  man,  and  has  even  asked  how  he  could 
serve  you." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  assented  Denise.  "  But,  sister, 
I  heard  words  but  yesterday  that  make  me  feel 
strangely  about  him.  I  admire  him  so  much  ;  but 


206  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

the  world  is  so  wicked  that  no  one  —  even  he  can  not 
escape  suspicion/' 

"How  so?  Tell  me  what  has  occurred.  Your 
words  of  that  man  have  ever  been  words  of  rever 
ence." 

"Yes,  and  even  now  —  but  listen:  It  was  down 
where  the  fever  sickness  is  so  busy ;  I  was  there. 
Two  men  of  the  boats  talked  of  monsieur.  I  could 
hear  their  words :  one  said  he  was  very  kind  with 
his  gold ;  another  said  it  was  only  a  trick  by  which 
to  win  the  love  of  the  poor  and  gain  votes  and  influ 
ence  with  the  people  against  the  time  when  it 
would  please  him  to  reach  for  position  in  this  land. 
One  said, '  Have  you  noted  that  he  has  ever  a  most 
fatherly  smile  for  our  convent  child  ? '  and  another 
said,  *  Aye ;  he  knows  there  are  scores  among  the 
poor  who  would  take  her  word  as  their  law,  so  he 
would  win  even  her.' ' 

"  Well,"  said  Sister  Andrea,  as  the  other  halted, 
"is  that  all?  They  were  perhaps  simply  making 
talk,  as  idle  men  will,  to  help  the  time  to  pass." 

"  I  know — so  I  thought;  but  even  as  I  left  there 
I  met  monsieur.  He  was  kind  ;  he  asked  after  the 
sick,  and  then  —  then  he  spoke  of  their  affection 
for  me,  of  my  influence  for  good  over  them,  and  of 
certain  ways  in  which  they  needed  to  be  influenced; 
of  the  rights  of  the  poor  whites  and  the  freed  blacks, 
who  were  each  subject  to  many  indignities  escaped 
by  those  possessing  the  saving-power  of  gold  or  of 
caste.  He  talked  wisely,  no  doubt,  but  I  was  think 
ing  more  of  the  words  of  the  other  men  than  of 
his ;  and  sorry  was  I  to  think  that  maybe  they  spoke 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  207 

truly,  and  that  every  smile  he  has  given  me  was  not 
for  Denise,  but  for  the  sake  of  some  law  of  which 
she  knows  nothing." 

Her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  lips  were  trem 
bling.  Sister  Andrea  was  astonished  to  see  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  What,  Denise !  You  care  so  much  ?  I  will  come 
to  believe  indeed  that  this  wise  Monsieur  Lamort  is 
a  wizard  who  charms  people.  Lend  not  your 
thoughts  to  suspicion  of  those  you  love,  child.  Of 
all  emotions  of  the  heart  it  is  the  one  most  miserable. 
And  what  if  this  good  gentleman  should  show  you 
how  to  serve  those  who  need  help  ?  It  is  not  as  if 
the  cause  was  an  unworthy  one." 

"No,  sister  — but— " 

"  But  you  are  very  much  of  a  woman  after  all, 
Denise,"  said  Sister  Andrea.  "  You  have  grown  so 
worldly  during  one  springtime  that  you  fancy  even 
this  gray-haired  diplomat  should  forget  his  cares 
when  you  are  in  his  vision.  Fie !  child ;  I  did  not 
fancy  you  so  vain." 

"  It  pleases  you  to  tease  me,  and  I  can  not  set 
myself  right,"  declared  the  girl,  "  because  I  can  not 
tell  what  it  is  I  feel  when  he  looks  at  me.  He 
kissed  my  hand  that  night  at  his  house  —  see!  — 
just  here ;  and  I  press  it  over  my  cheek  every  night 
ere  I  sleep.  Nay,  do  not  reprove,"  as  Sister  Andrea 
was  about  to  speak.  "  I  can  tell  you  as  I  can  no 
other ;  but  it  is  only  that  he  looks  in  that  grand 
house  as  though  his  heart  was  lonely  and  sad.  He 
looks  at  me,  and  I  want  to  put  out  my  hands  and 
comfort  him." 


A  FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

"And  this  of  a  grande  monsieur  who  lives  like  a 
prince,  they  say !  Truly  it  is  a  strange  impulse. 
Your  hands  have  until  now  gone  out  only  to  the 
poor  and  sick.  Do  not  be  won  from  them  to  the 
palaces,  child.  But  it  seems  to  me  this  gentleman  is 
most  worthy;  the  oppressed  have  many  blessings 
for  him.  And  since  you  prefer  not  to  go  to  the 
priest  — 

"He  drinks  wine  and  laughs  late  with  Don 
Zanalta,"  answered  Denise,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Well,  then  speak  to  this  gentleman  whose  gray 
hair  and  kind  words  have  won  your  sympathy. 
Tell  him  I  —  a  nun  here  —  advised  you  to  go  to 
him,  as  you  are  fatherless,  motherless,  and  need 
advice  beyond  my  knowledge.  He  knows  the 
town  and  its  dangers.  We  will  rest  on  his  judg 
ment,  Denise,  for  a  woman  shut  out  from  the 
world  as  I  am  may  not  advise  you  wisely.  My 
heart  makes  me  fearful.  I  would  gather  you  close 
to  me,  close  these  gates,  and  never  let  the  eyes  of 
men  rest  on  you;  but  that  might  not  be  either 
happiness  or  great  good  to  you,  dear.  No ;  we  will 
speak  to  the  stranger." 

Peculiarly  intimate  were  the  relations  of  those 
two,  considering  the  fact  that  each  wore  the  convent 
garb  —  the  robes  that  are  recognized  barriers  against 
worldly  personal  loves ;  but  Denise  had  explained 
her  own  attraction  to  the  beautiful  sad-eyed  nun, 
and  Sister  Andrea  —  well,  from  the  day  when  she 
had  stepped  ashore  there,  sent  from  a  convent  in 
old  Madrid  in  the  time  of  a  great  sickness  eight 
years  before,  from  that  day  when  Denise  had  met 


ECHOES   FROM    THE   PAST.  209 

her  just  inside  the  gate  and  offered  her  a  lily  flower, 
her  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  lovely  little  one  who 
had  never  known  any  home  but  the  convent  walls, 
and  their  liking  had  grown  with  the  years  until 
their  love  was  that  of  sisters  in  truth. 

And  so  it  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Sister  Andrea 
that  Denise  took  the  path  to  the  gardens  of  Mon 
sieur  Lamort. 

She  went  alone,  as  a  boy  might  have  done,  for  the 
foundling  of  the  convent  had  never  a  duenna  to 
guard  her ;  the  dress  of  a  novice  had  ever  been 
respected  but  that  one  night. 

And  was  it  so  strange  that  all  unexpected  she 
should  have  come  face  to  face  with  Chevalier  De- 
logne  at  the  arbor  of  the  very  first  gate?  For  is 
there  not  ever  a  certain  guardian  spirit  of  life  over 
all  ?  and  it  draws  so  surely  youth  to  meetings  with 
fair  youth ;  and  Delogne  arose  as  one  who  has 
dreamed  of  some  sweet  thing  come  true,  and  looked 
in  her  face  with  eyes  that  said  "  At  last !  " 

"  I  trust  that  I  did  not  startle  you,  mademoiselle  ?  " 
he  asked,  as  the  slow  pink  crept  up  to  her  cheek. 
"  I  sit  often  in  this  arbor  with  a  volume  for  company, 
though  my  eyes  and  thoughts  wander  far  beyond 
the  parchment  at  times." 

"  Yes,"  remarked  the  girl,  glancing  about.  "You 
can  see  the  water  across  there  on  which  the  ships 
go  out  to  the  sea,  and  across  to  your  own  land  ;  it  is 
natural  you  should  watch  it  with  fondness." 

"  True,  mademoiselle  ;  but  I  can  see  two  ways,  and 
the  other  is  across  to  the  sacred  place  where  your 
days  are  lived.  I  can  often  discern  forms  passing 

14 


210  A  FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

to  and  fro,  and  test  my  wits  to  discover  if  one  should 
be  you." 

"  There  are  many  besides  myself  there,  monsieur, 
and  all  of  more  importance,"  she  returned,  walking 
slowly  beside  him  to  the  house. 

"  I  dare  not  contradict  you  lest  you  show  me  dis 
favor,  Mademoiselle  Denise,  but  will  content  myself 
with  protesting  that  as  I  do  not  know  the  other 
excellent  ladies  and  have  been  privileged  to  know 
you  —  a  little  —  of  course  it  is  your  face  I  strive  to 
discover  and  not  that  of  a  stranger." 

The  girl  could  make  no  reply  to  that  —  she  felt  con 
fused  ;  she  knew  the  good  mother  superior  would 
not  approve,  and  yet  she  could  not  be  rude,  and  the 
conscience-troubling  thought  was  the  certainty  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  be.  It  was  entrancing  thus  to 
walk  under  the  whispering  leaves  keeping  pace  with 
the  step  of  another  who  spoke  with  all-caressing 
deference  to  her.  Her  heart  beat  warmly,  and  her 
hand  crept  to  her  rosary. 

He  looked  at  her.  They  were  nearing  the  door ;  a 
few  moments  and  there  would  be  no  more  words 
alone. 

"  Will  you  never  speak  to  me  when  we  meet  by 
chance  ?  "  he  asked,  gently ;  and  she  did  not  raise  her 
head. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  you  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  this  once,  a  few  words ;  but,  ah,  mademoi 
selle,  do  you  never  give  a  kind  glance  to  any  but 
the  invalids  or  the  very  aged  ?  A  man  in  a  strange 
land  can  starve  for  kind  words  as  surely  as  the 
poor  people  whom  you  befriend  grow  hungry  for 
the  taste  of  meats." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    PAST.  211 

"  But  you  are  not  alone  —  you  have  friends  —  they 
are  attached  to  you." 

"  Friends  —  oh,  yes  ;  Monsieur  Lamort  and  my  dear 
Raynel.  But  it  is  ever  the  sympathy  just  beyond 
us  for  which  we  yearn." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  gentlemen  when  you  say 
'we/  "  she  answered,  with  a  delightfully  prim  little 
manner  obtained  from  correcting  at  times  the 
younger  pupils  of  the  classes.  "  But  ingratitude  is 
most  lamentable,  and  surely  the  friendship  of  Mon 
sieur  Lamort  is  a  thing  to  be  satisfied  with." 

"  Ungrateful !  You  think  I  make  a  low  estimate 
of  his  kindness  because  I  long  for  something  more 
sweet  ?  Ah,  mademoiselle,  if  you  would  but  be  a 
little  gracious,  you  would  find  me  grateful,  I  promise 
you." 

"I  am  not  a  fine  lady,  monsieur,  from  whom 
courtiers  beg  grace,"  she  said,  as  they  reached  the 
doorway,  and  her  face  grew  more  decided  as  she 
looked  up  once  at  him.  "  I  am  only  Denise  of  the 
convent,  and  know  little  of  the  world's  ways  ;  but 
this  I  believe,  that  he  who  is  not  satisfied  with  that 
which  he  has  would  not  be  content  with  that  which 
he  thinks  he  would  like  to  have." 

And  then  she  passed  before  him  and  entered  the 
hall  leading  to  the  court  where  the  palms  drooped 
their  feathery  fans ;  and  under  their  shifting  shad 
ows  sat  the  man  she  had  come  to  speak  of,  Don 
Zanalta,  and  beside  him,  with  a  cigarette  between 
his  fingers,  stood  Monsieur  Lamort. 

She  saw  it  all  in  an  instant,  before  she  was 
observed  herself,  and  stepped  back  in  the  shadows 


212  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

out  of  range  of  their  eyes.  Was  it  for  this  she  had 
chosen  Monsieur  Lamort  instead  of  the  convivial 
Father  Joseph  ?  To  her  eyes  there  must  be  close 
friendship  when  Monsieur  Lamort  smiled  thus  down 
on  the  dark  head  of  Zanalta  ;  and  her  resolve  was 
taken  quickly  —  she  would  not  speak  of  the  errand 
for  which  she  had  come. 

She  could  not  hear  the  words  of  the  man  standing 
there,  or  guess  that  he  was  refusing  a  boon  the  other 
had  striven  for. 

"  No,  my  dear  Zanalta,"  he  was  saying,  with  that 
decided  voice  but  easy  smile,  "  I  can  not  move  in 
this  matter  if  I  would,  and  I  have  not  yet  met  with 
any  evidence  to  convince  me  that  I  should." 

"  But  I  assure  you,  though  the  letter  of  the  law 
will  oblige  the  Alcaldes  to  give  judgment  against 
Ronando,  their  sympathies  will  be  with  him." 

"  All  the  better  for  him ;  then  he  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  posing  as  a  martyr." 

"  But  truly,  do  you  care  not  at  all  that  the  preju 
dice  of  the  nobles  will  be  turned  against  you  ?  " 

"Will  that  also  result?"  asked  Lamort,  with  a 
curious  smile.  "  Do  they  then  dislike  justice  so 
earnestly  ?  Ah,  well,  perhaps  that  creole  slave,  the 
mother  of  Ronando's  child,  may  have  a  good  word 
for  me  at  the  day  of  judgment ;  it  may  even  weigh 
against  those  of  the  voluptuous  nobles." 

11  But  if  she  be  content- 

"  Content  to  be  beaten  like  a  beast  by  him  in  his 
drunken  fits  !  Pray  speak  no  more  of  it,  my  dear 
sir.  The  things  I  learned  of  that  plantation  are  not 
pleasant  to  dwell  on.  And,  by  the  way,  can  you  tell 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  213 

me  from  whom  Colonel  Dtirande  made  purchase  of 
that  adjoining  plantation  —  the  one  that  lies  between 
your  own  and  Ronando's?" 

"I  forget  the  name  —  something  like  Semour.  I 
have  it  on  papers  at  my  house,  for  we  had  trouble 
once  with  this  same  Durande  over  the  boundary- 
lines,  and  I  was  always  convinced  that  they  still 
hold  many  acres  which  by  right  belong  to  my  plan 
tation.  I  would  like  your  judgment  on  the  question 
some  day." 

"  It  is  at  your  service.  Let  me  know  anytime  I 
can  befriend  you." 

"  Have  I  not  let  you  know  this  morning?  "  retorted 
Zanalta.  "And  you  closed  your  heart  against  my 
plea,  just  as  you  did  to  old  Seilor  Ronando  yester 
day.  He  is  angry  and  astounded  that  he  has  been 
refused  consideration." 

The  two  men  passed  out  by  another  door  to  the 
garden,  and  did  not  perceive  the  girl,  who  stood 
uncertain  which  way  to  turn  ;  uncertain  what  to  say 
to  Delogne,  to  whom  she  had  motioned  for  silence, 
and  who  stood  silently  watching  her,  and  showing 
plainly  that  he  was  puzzled. 

And  then  from  among  the  palms  Venda  walked, 
a  brighter-faced  Venda  than  usual,  and  Denise,  with 
a  little  gasp  of  relief,  pointed  to  her. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  monsieur,  but  it  is  this 
woman  for  whom  I  have  words.  I  did  not  want  to 
interrupt  the  gentlemen,  but  Venda  will  under 
stand." 

He  noticed  her  embarrassment,  but  bowed  and 
placed  a  seat  for  her,  then  taking  himself  into  the 


214  A   FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

court.  And  the  slave-woman  stood  before  her  with 
questioning  eyes. 

"  Venda,  you  will  think  it  strange  that  I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  you,  only  to  trust  you  a  little.  I 
would  not  go  forward  to  speak  to  your  new  master 
because  —  because  your  former  master  was  there 
too,  and  I  could  not  explain  to  Monsieur  Delogne; 
but  you,  Venda,  maybe  you  know  without  me 
explaining." 

"  Venda  knows ;  you  have  wise  thoughts,  little 
mistress  — Venda  see  that  too.  And  your  tongue  has 
been  still  about  the  night  out  there  by  the  garden ; 
but  be  not  afraid  —Venda  watch,  Venda  make  sign 
to  you  if  danger  comes,  sure !  You  trust?  " 

"Yes."     And  the  girl  felt  a  dread  lifted  off  her 

heart  at  the  words  of  the  woman.    "You  know  what 

-  who  I  fear  —  I  came  to  tell  monsieur,  but  I  will 

not  now  —  perhaps  I  can  another  day;  until  then  I 

trust  you." 

"  And  is  there  any  other  thing  Venda  may  do  for 
you?" 

The  girl  arose,  smiling,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  please,  little  mistress,  you  do  something 
for  slave  Venda  —  little  bit.  To-day  she  like  to  ask 
how  you  be  convent  child  ?  " 

"  Would  you  care  to  hear  ? "  asked  Denise,  and  sat 
again  to  talk.  "Well,  the  story  is  not  a  long  one, 
Venda.  In  the  time  of  good  Mother  Agnace  I  was 
left  at  the  convent  gate  ;  that  was  all.." 

"You  little  then?" 

"  Very  little,  only  a  baby." 

"  No  one  know  where  you  come  from  ? " 


ECHOES    FROM    THE   PAST.  215 

"  No  one,  Venda.  Some  thought  Mother  Agnace 
knew,  but  she  died  before  I  could  talk  ;  she  told  the 
sisters,  however,  that  I  was  to  take  vows  when  I 
grew  old  enough  —  when  I  was  eighteen  ;  that  is 
over  a  year  away  yet.  So  you  see  I  have  not  a  long 
story  to  tell  you.  Why  do  you  care  to  know  ?  " 

"  Um  !  Nothing  much."  But  the  woman's  eyes 
searched  her  face  with  so  keen  a  scrutiny  that  the 
girl  drew  back,  startled  by  the  intensity  of  it ;  and 
then  she  saw  Lamort  and  Zanalta,  who  stood  in  the 
door  as  though  they  had  stopped  to  look  at  the 
picture  made  by  the  two  figures. 

Zanalta  had  his  hat  in  his  hand  about  to  depart, 
and  an  unpleasant  smile  touched  his  lips  as  he  looked 
at  them,  then  with  a  bow  he  passed  out ;  but  once  in 
the  garden  he  smote  one  hand  against  another  and 
smiled  at  some  thought  that  was  pleasant. 

"  Admirable  !  most  admirable  !  "  he  said  to  him 
self,  and  nodded  assent.  "  A  foundling  and  utterly 
unknown  to  any  one  now  living.  I  never  suspected 
that.  It  will  go  hard  with  me  if  I  do  not  find  a 
claimant  for  her  ere  long,  the  saintly  slip  ;  she  has 
caused  me  more  than  one  unquiet  moment,  though. 
I  have  feared  to  move  again  in  the  matter  so  soon  ; 
but  I'll  have  her  !  Would  not  Rochelle  come  handy 
in  this  enterprise  ?  I  fancy  so.  Once  get  her  aboard 
his  vessel  —  by  heavens,  it  shall  be  done !  Ah, 
Diego,  you  have  not  accomplished  much  for 
Ronando  by  this  visit  to-day,  but  you  have  found  a 
trail  to  a  soft  nest  for  yourself." 

Monsieur  Lamort  greeted  Denise  with  his  usual 


216  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

courtesy,  but  his  tones  had  a  little  more  than  his 
usual  tenderness  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I  heard  a  portion  of  your  discourse  as  we  entered 
here,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  beside  her,  "and  you  will 
pardon  in  an  old  man  that  which  you  have  par 
doned  his  slave  — a  little  curiosity.  And  are  you 
then  utterly  without  family  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  foundling  of  the  convent,  of  whom  no 
one  seems  to  know  anything  but  that  I  was  left  at 
the  gate  one  night,"  replied  the  girl;  while  Venda, 
Withdrawn  a  space,  watched  the  two  —  the  young  face 
with  its  youthful  grace,  the  old  one  with  the  gray 
hair,  the  sad  eyes,  and  the  scar  on  the  cheek  that 
lent  a  warrior-like  character  to  his  face. 

"It  is  desolate  enough  for  age  to  be  alone,  but  the 
loneliness  of  youth  can  also  have  its  sad  coloring  ; 
and  is  not  even  your  nationality  known  ? " 

"  Nothing  —  not  even  my  name  ;  but  Sister  Andrea 
always  insists  that  I  come  of  French  people.  Mother 
Agnace  must  also  have  thought  it  when  she  called 
me  Denise  ;  no  other  name  was  given  me,  for  in 
the  convent  life  no  other  is  needed." 

"  But  in  the  days  to  come,  when  perhaps  wedding- 
bells  are  sounded  for  you,  you  must  let  me  know, 
and  I  shall  see  that  you  do  not  go  undowered.  You 
have  earned  that,  mademoiselle,  by  your  labor  among 
those  who  can  not  afford  to  repay  you." 

"  You  are  gracious,  Monsieur  Lamort.  But  you 
do  not  know,  then,  that  this  dress  of  a  novice  has  its 
own  significance  ?  There  will  be  no  marriage-bells 
for  me.  I  am  to  be  a  nun  when  I  grow  older.  I 
owe  my  life  to  the  church." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    PAST.  217 

"And  to  no  one  else  a  thought  —  not  even  to 
yourself?  " 

As  she  raised  her  eyes  to  answer  him  she  noted 
that  Delogne  stood  in  the  doorway  and  was  observ 
ing  her.  The  color  swept  over  her  throat  and  brow 
like  a  lily  that  the  red  sun  tints.  Lamort  followed 
her  eyes,  and  smiled. 

"  To  no  one,  monsieur.  I  am  nameless ;  but  only 
from  the  church  will  a  name  be  given  me.  I  must 
be  away  on  my  errands  now.  I  was  speaking  to 
your  slave-woman,  but  did  not  think  to  stay  so  long." 

She  had  arisen,  when  Lamort  asked,  kindly,  "  Is 
there  anything  in  which  I  can  serve  you  to-day  ?  If 
so,  you  must  let  me  know." 

Her  original  errand  occurred  to  her,  but  she  had 
lost  the  courage  to  mention  it.  She  only  bowed  and 
moved  to  the  door. 

"  If  a  day  comes  when  I  need  service  I  will 
remember  your  offer,  and  will  remind  you  of  it. 
Meanwhile  I  thank  you  ;  I  pray  blessings  for  you." 

"  Blessings,"  repeated  the  older  man,  turning  to 
Delogne  after  she  had  gone.  "Is  it  not  blessing 
enough  for  one  day  to  receive  such  sweet  words,  or 
so  gracious  a  glance  from  those  clear  eyes?" 

Receiving  no  reply,  he  glanced  around  to  find  the 
young  man  staring  dejectedly  from  the  lattice. 

"  You  are  not  very  sympathetic,  Chevalier,"  he 
remarked,  drily. 

"What  can  you  expect,  monsieur  —  that  I  will 
rejoice  at  the  fact  that  the  Lady  Denise  dispenses 
sweet  glances,  but  will  direct  never  one  to  me  ?  I 
am  not  yet  saint  enough  for  that." 


218  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  What !  "  And  the  other  turned  and  looked  at 
him  with  more  attention.  "  Something  in  your  tone 
tells  me  you  are  serious." 

"Serious!"  And  Delogne  faced  him,  with  knit 
brows  and  determined  eyes.  "  So  serious  that, 
though  she  has  spoken  to  me  but  twice  in  her  life,  I 
would  give  all  I  wish  to  possess  if  I  could  hope  to 
win  her  from  those  vows  to  the  jealous  church." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Maurice,"  said  the  older  man,  kindly. 
"  Be  content  that  your  rival  is  nothing  more  human. 
But  would  not  your  aunt,  the  marquise,  think  this 
sudden  fancy  a  thing  of  folly?" 

"  Without  doubt  —  yes.  So  would  many  a  wise 
person,  monsieur,  for  she  will  not  look  at  me ;  and 
even  if  she  did  I  am  too  poor  to  offer  her  the  home 
such  a  lady  should  have  —  for  she  is  a  lady  by 
birth,  no  matter  how  shrouded  in  mystery  her 
parentage  remains." 

"  Yes,  she  appears  to  be  a  lady ;  but  really,  Mau 
rice,  one  can  not  always  judge  one's  descent  from 
the  face.  Have  you  not  seen  delicate  lady  mothers 
have  clowns  for  sons,  and  fairest  flowers  of  maid 
ens  grow  up  daintily  amid  brothers  and  sisters  who 
were  like  uncouth  cattle  ?  I  have.  I  have  also  seen 
a  graceful,  blue-eyed,  brown-haired  girl  whose 
mother  was  a  brown  woman  from  Cuba.  Those 
things  have  disturbed  somewhat  my  old  idea  that 
blood  always  tells.  It  does  not  always,  so  far  as 
outward  appearance  goes,  though  I  am  more  than 
willing  to  believe  that  mademoiselle  is  all  you  would 
have  her  be." 

"  Do  you  know,  monsieur,  for  the  first  time  I  am 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  219 

anxious  to  hasten  the  investigation  concerning  the 
properties  De  Bayarde  bought  long  since  for  the  mar- 
quise  ?  She  told  me  it  was  to  be  mine  if  it  was  yet 
obtainable,  It  may  prove  of  value  — who  knows? 
If  I  only  had  an  estate  of  my  own  at  my  back  I 
would  dare  move.  Her  friends  at  the  convent  might 
not  be  so  persuasive  then.  I  could  promise  more 
earnestly  that  her  life  should  have  every  care.  Ah  ! 
what  a  simple  you  must  think  me  to  thus  plan  and 
dream  when  I  am  not  even  encouraged  by  a  glance 
from  her.  Mon  Dicn  !  if  I  was  but  a  prince  with  a 
diadem  to  offer  her ! " 

"Yes,"  agreed  Lamort,  sadly,  cynically,  " there 
comes  a  time  in  every  man's  life  when  he  longs  for 
a  kingdom  to  bestow  on  some  woman." 

"Ah,  monsieur,  it  is  a  jest  to  you ;  but  if  you  have 
ever  known  love  — " 

The  older  man  raised  his  hand. 

"  Say  no  more,  Maurice.  I  would  help  you  if  I 
could  see  the  way.  But  the  memory  of  love  in  my 
life  is  more  like  to  give  me  cruel  than  kind  thoughts ; 
and  yet  —  that  girl  — 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands  and  seemed  lost 
in  reverie,  from  which  Delogne  made  no  attempt 
to  arouse  him,  though  he  glanced  at  him  curiously 
from  time  to  time.  He  wondered  what  had  made 
him  feel  bitter  at  the  memory  of  love  that  had  been 
—  some  woman  who  was  false,  perhaps. 

Then  Lamort  raised  his  head  and  brushed  his 
hand  over  his  brow  as  one  who  strives  to  drive  away 
thoughts  unpleasant. 

"  Bring  those    papers    from  the  cabinet  to  me, 


220  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Maurice  — those  in  the  private  drawer.  The 
Ronando  case  is  settled ;  those  slaves  will  be  confis 
cated.  The  heavy  fine  and  the  disgrace  —  well, 
they  will  count;  and  then  the  rolls  of  gold  for  a 
gambling  debt  that  must  be  paid  at  once  — ah !  they 
all  count.  Young  Ronando's  wife  goes  back  to 
Spain  in  anger  at  the  disclosures,  and  takes  all  her 
gold  from  their  coffers.  That  will  hurt  the  old  man 
most  —  the  loss  of  gold  or  of  dominion  always  hurt 
him.  That  is  one  move.  Now  for  Durande." 

Delogne  returned  with  the  papers,  and  the  older 
man  clutched  them  as  if  they  contained  much  that 
was  precious. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  we  will  see  about  that  estate  for  you, 
Maurice,"  he  said,  and  smiled,  with  a  peculiar  look 
at  the  young  man.  "  The  time  is  ripe,  I  think.  Let 
me  see  the  letter  from  Hector  de  Bayarde  to  the 
marquise  —  that  is  it  —  um!  Now  hand  tome  that 
roll  with  the  cord  of  crimson  about  it.  Yes,  my 
memory  is  good  for  these  things,  though  I  have  not 
unrolled  them  for  three  years."  And  he  smoothed 
out  the  yellow,  crackling  parchment.  "Now  try 
your  eyes  on  that.  What  do  you  see  ? " 

Delogne  glanced  at  it,  then  at  the  letter  to  th* 
marquise,  and  half  rose  from  his  chair  in  sudden 
surprise. 

"  Why !  "  -  and  he  stared  at  Lamort  as  though 
scarcely  realizing  that  he  had  seen  aright— " on  my 
life,  it  seems  the  same  script  —  written  by  the  same 
hand." 

"  I  thought  you  would  discover  the  resemblance," 
remarked  the  older  man,  quietly.  "  But  you  do  not 
examine  the  meaning  of  the  text." 


ECHOES   FROM    THE    PAST.  221 

Delogne  bent  over  it,  with  a  low  cry  of  surprise. 

"It  is  the  paper  mentioned  in  that  letter,"  he 
exclaimed,  excitedly.  "  *  The  transfer  of  the  estate 
called  Royal  Grant  from  the  Count  Hector  of  the 
house  of  De  Bayarde  of  Anjou  to  Madame  la  Mar 
quise  de  Lescure  of  Rouen,  France.'  So  it  is  labeled, 
and  so  —  ah,  mon  Dieu!  monsieur,  I  feel  as  though  a 
great  wave  had  passed  over  me,  leaving  me  breath 
less.  My  astonishment  leaves  me  no  words.  Your 
rinding  of  this  is  like  witchcraft." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  league  me  with  the  witches," 
smiled  Lamort.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  maledic 
tions  lately  from  our  ruling  class  here  without  add 
ing  the  accusation  of  witchcraft." 

"  But  pray  tell  me  how  you  have  found  this  —  by 
what  rare  chance  it  has  come  to  you." 

"  There  is  little  of  chance  in  this  world,  Maurice," 
returned  the  other,  wearily  ;  "  and  the  only  thing  in 
this  affair  that  seems  strange  to  me  is  that  you 
should  have  arrived  at  just  the  time  you  did  in  New 
Orleans." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  that  is  by  no  means  the  strangest 
to  me.     This  paper,  supposed  to  be  lost  in  the  sea 
years  ago,  written  by  a  man  dead  these  thirty  years  — 
well,  I  confess  it  is  wonderful  that  you  should  have 
found  it." 

"Not  so  wonderful  when  you  learn  that  it  has 
never  been  for  one  moment  lost.  That  it  never 
was  sent  to  the  marquise,  because  of  delays  that 
were  many.  The  papers  Hector  de  Bayarde  promised 
to  send  were  burned  when  the  Indians  fired  a  house 
where  he  was  staying  over  in  the  Apalachee  country. 


222  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

This  one  was  executed  long  after,  and  only  two 
months  before  the  insurrection  of  '68  —  the  time  of 
his  own  death  and  the  confiscation  of  all  his  own 
property.  It  was  sealed  up  with  other  papers  of 
import  —  papers  containing  many  secrets  of  that 
troublous  autumn,  many  names  of  persons  inter 
ested  in  the  uprising,  whose  property  would  also 
have  been  grasped  by  the  Spanish  governor  if  those 
signatures  had  met  his  eyes.  Oh,  yes,  that  title  deed 
and  transfer  was  in  important  company  all  those 
years,  though  it  is  so  yellow  and  unlovely." 

"  But  you?"  persisted  Delogne.  "  I  am  yet  amazed 
that  all  this  knowledge  should  have  come  to  you ; 
that  you  could  have  gained  so  quickly  all  the  past 
records  of  De  Bayarde." 

"  The  knowledge  at  least  came  to  me  in  all 
honesty,"  declared  Lamort ;  "  and  if  a  title  is  given 
you  to  the  estate  it  will  be  a  clear  one*" 

"  Do  not  think  for  one  instant  that  I  suspect  that," 
said  Delogne,  quickly.  "  It  is  my  amazement  that 
speaks,  not  my  doubts ;  and  if  it  is  not  a  secret,  I 
confess  I  am  curious  to  hear  more." 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  is  not  a  secret  I  could  not  tell  to  you," 
answered  the  other  after  a  moment's  thought.  "  For 
you  of  course  would  not  send  it  abroad.  I  would 
trust  you  for  that." 

"  You  may." 

"  Of  course,"  resumed  Lamort,  "  I  do  not  promise 
to  tell  absolutely  all,  as  there  may  be  those  yet  on 
earth  for  whom  it  would  result  sadly,  and  against 
whom  I  have  no  ill-will.  But  you  may  have  gathered 
from  many  things  —  report,  the  contents  of  my 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  223 

house,  or  my  own  words  —  that  I  have  been  a  traveler 
who  loved  the  strange  corners  of  the  world.  Well, 
it  is  true.  For  three  years  I  have  been  quiet  here 
on  this  Island  of  Orleans  —  I,  who  have  never  been 
so  long  in  one  place  for  more  years  than  the  number 
of  fingers  on  both  hands.  Some  day  —  pouf  !  —  a 
fair  wind  will  blow  in  the  way  of  my  mood,  and  I 
will  doubtless  stand  again  on  the  deck  of  a  vessel, 
and  head  her,  as  of  old,  where  my  fancy  leads. 
But  to  the  story  :  Once  off  the  far  coast  of  Mexico 
inclination  led  me  inland  —  over  the  ranges  where 
the  yellow  metal  is  found,  through  lands  where 
the  fine  opals  glow,  and  where  the  precious  stones 
of  amber,  and  blue,  and  green  gleam  on  many  an 
Indian  breast ;  where  I  have  seen  a  native  guide 
kick  over  a  stone  by  the  path  and  find  under  it  a 
topaz.  In  that  land  are  labor  exiles  who  are  as  slaves. 
Some  have  gone  from  these  shores,  some  from  the 
West  Indies ;  some  are  really  slaves  stolen  off  the 
slave  coasts  and  held  there  under  the  iron  rule  of 
the  mines,  working  under  the  musketry  of  the  guards, 
and  risking  worse  dangers  than  quick  death  if  they 
venture  an  escape  through  the  country  of  the  na 
tives.  Well,  I  reached  a  valley  in  one  of  those 
ranges  —  a  valley  where  the  gold  was  washed  from 
the  soil  at  the  will  of  mercenaries,  who  filled  their 
own  coffers,  and  gave  also  a  goodly  portion  to  the 
state,  for  that  was  the  law.  The  study  of  that 
country  pleased  me.  I  learned  also  somewhat  of  the 
traces  gold  and  gems  leave  on  the  soil  where  they 
hide.  You  will  find  people  here  who  will  tell  you  I 
have  made  fortunes  by  such  findings,  though  they 


224  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

but  guess  at  that.  But  during  my  observations  I 
of  course  met  men  who  toiled,  as  well  as  the  gold 
they  washed  in  the  streams.  From  one  of  those 
exiles  I  learned  the  story  of  wealth  hidden,  possibly, 
in  these  papers,  and  of  the  papers  hidden  in  the 
marked  nook  of  the  waters  near  this  island." 

"  De  Bayarde ! "  exclaimed  Delogne,  with  eager 
excitement ;  "  the  man  the  people  here  have  told 
us  of,  Basil  de  Bayarde,  the  —  exile." 

Lamort  nodded,  and  then  smiled  carelessly,  as  he 
said  : 

"  I  am  wondering  why  you  did  not  say  as  the 
others  say —  Bayarde  the  assassin." 

"  I  can  not  say.  I  only  know  it  does  not  seem 
natural  for  me  to  think  of  him  like  that ;  perhaps 
because  the  story  of  the  fair  lady  and  their  love,  and 
all,  has  made  the  legend  more  romantic  than  horrible 
to  me,  though  of  course  the  crime  and  expiation  has 
horror  enough  too." 

"  Well,  your  avoidance  of  the  word  assassin  or 
murderer  recalled  to  my  mind  the  very  earnest  pro 
tests  the  man  made  of  his  own  guiltlessness  of  crime 
in  that  matter." 

"  Heavens !  how  horrible  if  he  should  be  guiltless 
-if  that  most  terrible  sentence  should  be  unjust!  " 
exclaimed  the  younger  man  ;  "  but  of  course  it  is  not 
likely  —  the  judges  would  of  course  sift  well  the  evi 
dence  ere  committing  a  life  to  such  torture." 

"  One  of  the  judges  was  Senor  Ronando,"  remarked 
Lamort,  grimly.  "  The  accused  man  was  thought 
of  the  low  caste  —  a  young  ranger  of  the  north  who 
thought  little  of  title,  and  in  fact  had  no  proof  at 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST. 

the  time  that  he  came  of  other  than  peasant  blood. 
Men  of  Ronando's  stamp  could  forgive  a  murderer, 
but  not  a  peasant  who  had  dared  reach  for  —  and 
clasp  —  a  princess  from  their  midst ;  a  maid  who 
had  disdained  his  judges,  yet  bent  to  his  wooing. 
Think  you  such  a  man  would  judge  with  unbiased 
mind?" 

"And  you  know  all  this  —  have  known  it  while  it 
has  been  discussed  among  us,  yet  made  no  com 
ment?"  said  Delogne,  looking  at  him  wonderingly. 
But  Lamort  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Ah !  no ;  they  have  told  many  things  I  had  not 
heard  before  — for  you  see  it  was  his  side  of  the 
story  I  had  known,  not  theirs,  and  I  find  a  wide 
difference ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  trust  his  the 
most.  But  I  commenced  to  tell  you  of  this,"  and  he 
touched  the  parchment.  "  It  seems  Hector  feared 
death  might  come  to  him  through  the  insurrection, 
and  he  made  his  arrangements  accordingly,  so  that 
his  boy  should  in  after  years  carry  on  the  work  he 
would  leave  undone.  He  was  an  earnest  lover 
of  his  native  France  —  though  to  tell  the  truth  he 
had  been  treated  ill  enough  by  some  of  its  people, 
as  you  may  have  heard.  He  had  papers  fiery  with 
political  plots,  documents  of  power  in  able  hands, 
but  useless  of  course  in  the  hands  of  a  boy  of  ten 
years.  So  when  the  final  blow  struck  him,  he  bade 
the  boy  take  him  to  a  nook  already  marked  as  fit- 
ing;  by  his  directions  the  papers,  sealed  in  glass, 
were  buried  under  the  river-sands.  The  boy  was 
made  to  promise  never  to  unearth  them  until  his 
twenty-fourth  year,  the  father  knowing  that  in  the 

15 


226  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

hands  of  a  boy  they  would  be  things  of  vast  danger ; 
but  if  at  that  age  he  cared  to  use  the  knowledge 
contained  in  them,  and  so  rise  to  position,  then 
they  were  to  be  used  according  to  written  instruc 
tions  wrapped  with  them.  But  here  one  puzzling 
thing  occurs.  This  paper  in  our  hands  was  not  meant 
to  be  buried  with  the  others  ;  in  a  letter  it  is  men 
tioned,  also  the  surveyed  outline  of  the  estate  is 
told  of,  but  it  is  plainly  stated  that  the  documents 
themselves  are  sent  to  his  friend  in  France,  the 
Marquise  de  Lescure,  and  bids  his  son  do  service 
for  her  if  she  ever  call  on  him.  Now  that  sur 
veyed  plan  of  the  land  is  not  here,  neither  is  the 
letter  of  instructions  to  the  marquise,  so  the  supposi 
tion  to  me  is  that  in  his  haste  he  has  sealed  and  sent 
to  the  marquise  those  two  papers,  and  overlooked 
the  legal  documents,  which  he  had  enrolled  among 
the  ones  for  his  son.  I  also  gather  from  his  letter 
to  the  son  that  he  had  requested,  and  hoped,  that 
the  marquise  would  have  a  care  of  the  boy,  and  had 
written  her  to  that  effect." 

"  She  never  received  the  letter,  monsieur —  I  am 
assured  of  that,"  declared  Delogne  ;  "  and  since  it 
was  lost,  what  a  lucky  chance  it  is  that  this  docu 
ment  was  forgotten  in  that  time  of  his  haste  and 
distraction." 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  there  is  little  that  chances, 
my  dear  Chevalier." 

"  And  you  tell  me  that  De  Bayarde  at  his  trial  did 
not  know  of  his  family  or  their  standing.  How  was 
that  so  when  he  had  those  papers  ?  " 

"He  was  by  no  means  twenty-four  years  old  at 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   PAST.  227 

the  time  he  was  sentenced;  and  with  the  careless 
nature  of  a  boy  he  never  took  thought  that  these 
musty  political  records  could  help  him  in  his 
trouble,  or  that  they  could  bear  influence  aside 
from  plots  of  government.  The  lad  had  seen  more 
than  he  cared  to  of  revolts  and  their  distresses,  and 
had  no  disposition  to  take  part  in  the  schemes  which 
his  father  held  sacred.  He  had  much  rather  make 
himself  a  pipe  from  a  reed,  and  blow  through  it  the 
songs  of  each  bird  or  wild  thing  haunting  the  river. 
And  so  it  fell  that  these  things  were  left  until  this 
time  to  be  looked  into ;  for  Bayarde,  hopeless  of 
returning  in  his  own  person,  gave  the  clue  to  the 
documents  into  another's  keeping." 
"  And  that  other  was  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  them  in  my  possession,"  agreed  the  other, 
quietly. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Delogne,  sadly ;  "  he  little 
thought  what  influence  his  confidence  would  have 
on  lives  he  knew  not  of." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  He  thought  of  a  great 
many  things,  away  off  there  in  that  living  hell. 
He  grew  to  hope  —  without  ever  having  read  those 
papers,  mind  you  — he  grew  to  hope  steadily  that 
their  contents  might  have  power  to  bring  sorrow 
to  some  of  the  men  who  condemned  him;  and, 
strangely  enough,  it  has  proven  so.  This  land  to 
which  these  papers  give  your  aunt  legal  right  is 
now  held  by  Durande,  one  of  the  judges.  It  will 
leave  him  less  wealthy,  and  it  will  also  take  many 
acres  from  Don  Zanalta ;  for  it  is  no  small  garden, 
Maurice." 


228  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  yet,"  said  the  young 
man,  getting  up  and  walking  about ;  "  a  large  estate, 
of  which  at  least  a  considerable  portion  will  come  to 
me  —  or  will  there  be  doubt  as  to  our  right  being 
allowed  at  this  date  ?  " 

"  The  property  was  confiscated,  together  with 
other,  as  that  of  Hector  de  Bayarde,  revolutionist ; 
hence  it  belonged  to  the  state,  or  the  crown  ;  after 
ward  it  came  to  Durande  for  services  rendered  the 
governor.  But  at  the  time  it  was  confiscated  it  no 
longer  belonged  to  De  Bayarde,  as  these  documents 
prove ;  so  restitution  must  be  made  by  the  crown. 
Though  before  any  word  is  said  or  any  move  made 
in  the  matter  I  would  like  much  to  have  a  copy  of 
that  original  plat  of  the  land  as  marked  by  the  ear 
liest  surveyors,  for  from  it  the  landmarks  would  be 
more  easily  distinguished  ;  and  in  my  belief  there 
is  but  one  in  the  hands  of  a  private  citizen,  a  brown 
parchment  done  in  red  ink,  and  that  citizen  is  Don 
Zanalta." 

"  Ah !  And  what  part  did  the  Don  play  in  the 
tragedy  of  Bayarde  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  most  important  person  —  the  prose 
cutor,"  returned  the  other,  quietly.  "  He  and  Du 
rande  have  had  legal  trouble  -  about  the  boundary- 
lines  of  their  estates  —  they  adjoin  each  other. 
That  is  how  I  came  to  learn  of  the  surveyed  plan  of 
the  old  plantations  which  is  in  Zanalta's  possession ; 
though  you  understand  that  nothing  is  to  be  men 
tioned  concerning  it  to  any  one  at  present." 

"  Not  at  any  time  except  by  your  wish,"  promised 
Delogne,  earnestly  ;  "but  I  have  been  most  anxious 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  229 

to  learn  more  of  that  man  down  there  in  the  gold- 
fields.  Can  you  tell  me  any  more  of  him,  or  have 
you  grown  tired  of  my  questioning  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  will  tell  you  all  I  have  been  able 
to  learn,  and  am  only  sorry  that  the  '  all '  is  so  brief 
and  cheerless.  After  I  found  those  papers  and  had 
settled  here  in  Orleans  for  awhile,  I  sent  a  letter  to 
the  commander  of  the  mines  out  there  asking  about 
the  man  whom  these  papers  had  been  meant  to 
benefit.  I  have  the  answer  somewhere  among 
these  papers  here.  It  .said  that  the  convict  Bayarde 
had  been  killed  five  years  ago,  by  a  fall  into  a 
chasm,  where  he  was  dashed  to  death.  His  body 
was  never  recovered,  but  his  number  was  wiped 
from  the  convict-list,  and  he  was  declared  legally 
dead.  Not  a  bright  finale,  Chevalier,  but  the  whole 
story  is  gloomy.  It  makes  me  sad  when  I  think  of 
it  —  and  especially  of  the  chance  there  was  that  he 
might  have  been  innocent.  Come,  let  us  walk  out 
where  the  wind  blows ;  those  papers  stifle  one  with 
the  mold  of  the  past." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   WOOING    OF   NINON. 


IN  the  house  of  Zanalta  there  were  curious  doings 
and  varying  moods  in  these  days,  despite  the  long 
hours  of  labor  and  discussion  over  the  portrait  of 
the  gracious  senora.  It  was  not  yet  completed,  and 


230  A    FLOWER   OF    FRANCE. 

the  lady  sat  day  after  day  on  the  throne-like  chair 
and  smiled  complacently  on  the  handsome  artist, 
seeing  clearly  enough  through  his  ruse  to  prolong 
the  sittings,  and  receiving  the  raillery  of  Madame 
Villette  with  great  good  humor. 

And  Don  Zanalta  had  said  to  him,  with  sly  mean 
ing,  "  I  acknowledge  myself  in  your  debt,  Monsieur 
Raynel,  for  more  than  the  price  of  a  portrait, 
namely,  so  many  days  of  fair  weather  in  our  house 
hold.  The  temper  of  my  sister-in-law  has  ever  been 
variable,  but  she  broods  over  us  all  like  a  dove  of 
peace  since  she  has  commenced  to  admire  herself  on 
your  canvas.  Pray  tell  us,  do  you  mingle  a  charm 
with  your  pigments  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  spoke  Madame  Villette,  with  a 
smile  of  saucy  wisdom ;  "  what  charm  more  potent 
than  the  latest  fashion  from  murderous  Paris? 
Alas  for  captives  snared  by  Monsieur  Cupid  through 
such  arts !  " 

"  Take  care,  Ninon,"  warned  Don  Zanalta,  "  else 
some  day  a  gallant  may  ride  this  way,  and  leave 
your  friends  lamenting  because  you  too  are  num 
bered  among  the  captives." 

"I?"  And  madame's  pretty  brows  were  arched, 
and  her  jeweled  hands  flung  upward  in  disdain. 
"  Pray  give  me  credit  for  more  of  wisdom.  There 
will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  that  when  my  curls 
turn  to  gray,  and  my  heart  is  tired  of  wandering." 

"Madame"  —and  Raynel's  eyes  met  hers  as  he 
bowed  —  "  there  is  a  proverb  telling  us  it  is  best  to 
love  to-day  —  to-morrow  never  comes." 

"  Ah !   Senora  Zanalta,  will  be  interested  to  hear 


THE   WOOING    OF   NINON.  231 

that  " — and  she  met  his  glance  with  one  of  laughing 
defiance — "and  it  is  a  pretty  playmate  for  an  empty 
hour —  this  love  !  There  are  many  proverbs  about 
it,  and  among  others  one  that  says,  '  Love  makes 
time  pass,  but  time  makes  love  pass.'  ' 

"  Truly,"  remarked  Diego  Zanalta,  "  you  each  seem 
wise  on  the  subject,  as  though  you  had  perused  vol 
umes  concerning  it ;  but,  Ninon,  a  lady  exclaiming 
against  love  is  like  a  child  who  sings  in  the  dark 
because  it  is  afraid." 

"  Oh  !  "—and  she  gazed  after  his  retreating  form 
with  large  combative  eyes  —  "  afraid !  —  I  ?  Well, 
then,  Juan  Diego  Zanalta,  I  could  tell  you  it  is  not 
Ninon  Villette  who  is  afraid  — •  not  the  least  little 
bit." 

And  she  seated  herself  decorously  on  the  quaint 
carving  of  the  window-shelf,  scarce  seeming  to  see 
the  man  who  had  quoted  of  love  to  her,  and  who 
looked  on  her  with  caressing  eyes  from  the  respect 
ful  distance  at  which  he  stood. 

"  And  it  pleases  you  to  laugh,  then,  at  the  power 
before  which  so  many  worship,  madame  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Strong  indeed  must  be  your  faith  in  self  if  never 
a  fear  comes  to  you  lest  Monsieur  Cupid  should 
some  day  visit  you  in  search  of  revenge." 

"  Indeed  no.  Love  only  calls  at  doors  where  some 
voice  sings  him  a  welcome ;  and  I  —  oh,  well,  mon 
sieur,  I  have  had  other  things  to  think  of,  serious 
things.  Have  you  not  heard  of  the  lost  Santa  Bar 
bara,  a  vessel  swallowed  in  the  storm  of  last  month, 
when  it  carried  to  the  ocean-bed  so  much  of  the 
dowry  I  might  have  brought  to  a  husband  ?  Well, 


232  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

monsieur,  I  speak  to  you  with  directness,  knowing 
you  to  be  a  friend  of  the  family,  and  you  will  under 
stand  that  a  dowerless  widow  can  not  expect  the 
visits  you  are  so  gallant  as  to  mention." 

Ah,  Ninon  !  it  is  a  time-worn  card  to  play  —  that 
for  compassion;  and  yet,  ancient  as  it  is,  adoration 
ever  blinds  one's  eyes  to  the  trap  it  hides.  And 
Constante  listened  with  a  growing  radiance  over 
spreading  his  face.  Her  wealth  swept  away  !  Then 
that  barrier  was  broken  down.  He  felt  so  much 
closer  to  her  when  she  said  a  portion  of  her  riches 
was  hers  no  longer. 

And  so  it  was  that  Madame  Villette,  glancing  up, 
met  his  smiling  eyes,  his  eager,  pleased  face,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  with  a  reproachful  expres 
sion. 

"  Indeed,  monsieur,  though  you  say  nothing, 
your  looks  belie  all  sympathy  for  my  ill  fortune." 

"  111  fortune  !  Ah,  madame,  do  not  treat  me  coldly 
for  that.  I  —  I  —  how  am  I  to  make  you  under 
stand  what  I  feel  at  the  news  that  you  are  no  longer 
the  very  wealthy  Ninon  Villette  ?  I  can  not  have 
regret  for  the  loss  of  that  which  helped  to  wall  me 
from  you  —  the  golden  weight  that  would  have  ever 
beaten  down  my  courage." 

"  Monsieur ! " 

"  Yes,  it  is  so.  I  adore  you  —  adore  you  !  You 
may  dismiss  me  forever  for  saying  so  —  well,  it  is 
said.  I  am  poor  in  moneys  —  in  everything  but  my 
heart's  love,  and  that  is  doubtless  nothing  in  your 
eyes;  but  —  ah,  Madame  Ninon!  —  I  have  been 
hiding  my  thoughts  like  a  thief  who  was  afraid  ;  now 


THE    WOOING    OF   NINON.  233 

at  least  I  can  feel  more  like  an  honest  man  since  I 
have  spoken." 

Madame  Villette  had  retreated  under  the  rapid 
passionate  shower  of  words.  It  is  true  she  retreated 
but  a  step,  and  the  lucky  beggar  was  not  forced  to 
let  go  the  hand  he  had  audaciously  seized. 

But  even  the  step  gave  one  little  touch  of  unwill 
ingness,  and  Constante,  who  dare  scarce  look  in  her 
face,  groaned  in  spirit,  though  whispering,  "  I  love 
you  —  I  adore  you." 

"  But,  monsieur  —  pray  rise  !  Some  one  may  come, 
perhaps ;  and,  ah !  if  it  should  be  my  aunt,  it  would 
be  terrible." 

Even  his  passion  could  not  blind  him  to  the  fact 
that  an  arrival  of  the  Zanalta  at  that  precise  moment 
would  be  a  thing  to  dread,  and  he  arose  from  his 
place   at   her   feet,   standing    beside    her,   eager - 
adoring. 

Madame  Villette,  glancing  at  him  from  the  corner 
of  her  eye,  decided  that  he  had  never  before  looked 
so  handsome. 

"Will  you  not  even  speak  to  me?"  he  entreated. 
"Consider,  madame,  to  love  you  was  my  fate  —  not 
my  fault.  To  remain  near  you  and  keep  silent  was 
no  longer  a  possible  thing.  But  speak  to  me,  I  pray 
you." 

"  You  have  been  very  foolish,  monsieur,"  she  said 
at  last.  "  You  have  been  so  for  a  long  time." 

"I  know  —  I  know!  ever  since  that  first  evening 
when  my  eyes  rested  on  you  —  when  my  arms  held 
you  for  a  moment  amid  the  palms.  Ah,  madame, 
if  for  a  sweet  instant  a  soul  should  stand  within  the 


234  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

gate  of  paradise,  and  loiter  ever  after  within  sight 
of  its  beauties,  could  you  blame  him  f  01  the  longings 
born  there?" 

11  You  are  adding  sacrilege  to  folly,  for  the  long 
ings  for  heaven  should  not  be  spoken  of  as  the 
wishes  of  earth." 

"  Madame,  if  you  have  ever  loved,  you  would 
know  that  our  true  loves  of  earth  are  heaven-born. 
It  is  the  one  gleam  of  heaven  allowed  to  us  here. 
The  words  of  love  can  never  be  sacrilege  against 
aught  that  is  holy.  You  shake  your  head  —  you  do 
not  believe !  Oh,  if  love's  hand  but  touched  you, 
then  you  could  not  be  so  severe." 

"Severe?  I  think  not,  monsieur.  I  but  said  you 
showed  folly." 

"  In  daring  to  tell  you  my  heart  was  at  your  feet? 
Yes,  it  was  madness  to  dream  you  might  care,  if 
ever  so  little  ;  but  the  madness  was  sweet ;  it  is  my 
own  ;  it  will  never  leave  me.  Even  your  dismissal 
can  not  rob  me  of  it,  for  I  have  found  more  sweet 
ness  in  its  dreams  than  wisdom  will  ever  bring 
to  me.  So,  madame,  it  is  all  said  —  all  the  folly. 
But  have  you  no  word  for  me  ere  I  go? " 

* '  Go !  —  you  are  going  —  where  ? ' ' 

"  Of  that  I  have  not  thought,  and  I  dare  not  hope 
it  is  of  concern  to  you." 

"  Oh,  but  it  is.  The  portrait  of  Senora  Zanalta  is 
not  yet  finished;  my  own  is  not  yet  commenced." 

He  looked  at  her  angrily,  and  his  teeth  closed 
tightly  as  if  to  strangle  an  oath. 

"  You  are  gracious  to  care  where  I  am,  madame," 
he  said,  bitterly ;  "but  it  is  best  the  pictures  should 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  235 

remain  ever  as  they  are  than  that  you  should  be 
further  annoyed  by  a  love  you  can  not  return,  and  I 
can  make  no  promises  to  refrain  from  showing  you 
the  folly  of  my  feelings  toward  you." 

He  picked  up  his  hat,  looked  at  her  a  moment, 
and  turned  away  with  a  bow.     The  lovely  drooping 
face  was  flushed  like  a  rose  ;  she  dared  not  raise  her 
eyes  to  look  at  him.     He  was  going,  the  madman !  - 
he  had  said  so.     He  had  reached  the  door. 

Then  he  heard  her  voice  — so  meek  a  voice— it 
was  almost  a  whisper,  and  it  said  : 

"I I  have  not  asked  for  the  promises,  monsieur." 

"  Madame  —  Ninon ! " 

"  I  would  not  know  what  to  do  with  them,  espe 
cially  when  you  threaten  to  break  them.  But  I  am 
very  positive  Senora  Zanalta  will  grieve  if  you  take 
your  departure  without  finishing  her  picture." 

"  Ninon  —  angel !     Do  you  mean  - 

But  she  shook  her  head,  and  held  out  one  hand 
laughingly  to  ward  him  off. 

"  No,  no !  not  one  word  more  for  that  sort  of 
questioning.  If  you  care  to  tell  me  the  answer  you 
would  like  to  hear  from  me,  then  indeed  it  will  be 
time  enough  for  me  to  confess,  otherwise  - 

But  needless  to  say  the  alternative  was  not  dis 
cussed.  There  were  passionate  words  of  devotion, 
fond  chidings,  and  some  coquettings  close  there  by 
the  lattice;  and  the  love-making  of  the  young 
Frenchman  had  not  quite  the  stately  character 
belonging  to  the  devoted  courtiers  of  Old  Spain. 
Hence  the  reason  that  Madame  Ninon,  blushing  and 
confused,  looked  sister  to  some  wind-kissed  rose, 


236  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

and  did  frown  and  smile  many  times,  and  knit  her 
pretty  brows,  murmuring-  against  love's  folly. 

"Ah  —  but  think,  Ninon,  sweet  Ninon,  how 
long  I  have  starved  for  a  kiss  of  your  hand— a 
gracious  whisper.  It  has  not  been  easy  for  me  to 
wait  until  now." 

'Then  do  I  heartily  wish  you  had  made  your 
declaration  at  once  on  your  meeting  me  if  you  think 
you  would  have  been  more  rational  than  after  these 
weeks  of  lingering  wishes." 

"  But  did  you  not  accuse  me  of  folly  when  I  spoke 
but  now?  You  would  have  dismissed  me  forever 
had  I  spoken  at  first." 

And  then  Ninon,  Madame  Villette,  laughed  and 
blushed  at  her  own  words  as  she  whispered : 

"  Your  folly  was  that  you  feared  to  speak  ;  it  was 
that  I  meant." 

And  who  so  close  to  heaven  as  Constante  ? 

"  But  no ;  my  brother  will  not  be  pleased,"  con 
fessed  the  lady  when  later  they  had  escaped  to  an 
arbor  where  a  tete-a-tete  could  be  assured.  "  He  has 
thought  it  amusing  to  connect  your  name  with  that 
of  Donna  Zanalta  "  (Constante  shuddered),  "but  he 
will  not  be  ready  to  laugh  when  he  learns  you  have 
found  favor  with  me  before  his  favorites." 

"  Ah  !  if  I  had  but  the  wealth  of  some  of  the  men 
he  would  welcome  !  " 

"  What,  sir !  When  their  wealth  can  not  win  me  ? 
Do  you  prize  so  lightly  victories  won  that  you  have 
heart  to  think  of  others  yet  beyond  you  ?  "  And  she 
affected  chagrin  so  prettily  that  he  was  forced  to 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  237 

sue  for  pardon,  and  protest  until  she  was  graciously 
pleased  to.be  pleased  once  more. 

"  It  is  only  that  I  might  give  the  jewel  won  a 
casket  fit  for  its  resting-place,"  he  assured  her,  and 
sighed  happily  ;  "but  I  fear  me  I  should  have  to 
ask  you  to  wait  until  my  hair  was  gray  ere  I  could 
accomplish  that." 

"  Then  I  pray  you  will  ask  nothing  so  impossible 
of  me,"  she  retorted.  "  Wait  until  you  are  old  ?  —  do 
not  hope  it.  If  I  cared  to  marry  a  man  who  is  old  I 
might  chance  to  do  so  without  waiting  so  long,  as 
there  are  several  in  the  colony ;  so  be  warned." 

Monsieur  Raynel  looked  at  her  with  smiling  scru 
tiny  ;  and  so  quickly  does  love  reflect  thought  that 
Madame  Ninon  laughed  and  nodded,  with  upraised 
finger. 

"I  can  tell  what  you  are  thinking — yes,  I  am 
quite  sure.  Now  confess.  You  are  thinking  of 
those  who  are  forsaken  because  they  are  dowerless, 
and  of  whom  we  spoke  but  now.  Yes,  but  many 
good  people  may  yet  think,  as  you  yourself  did 
think  me,  still  a  lady  of  wealth,  and  so  present 
themselves." 

"A  lady  of  wealth,  and  are  you  not?"  demanded 
her  lover.  "  Each  word  spoken  by  you  is  a  golden 
blossom  of  thought,  each  glance  of  your  eyes  a 
jewel  for  which  a  man  would  sell  himself  into 
slavery.  What  wealth  so  precious  as  that  of  your 
own  charms?" 

"  But  what  think  you  Diego  will  say  when  we 
speak  of  our  stock  of  charms  with  which  to  com 
mence  life  together?"  she  laughed,  gaily.  "  But 


238 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 


never  mind;  Diego  need  not  know  yet,  even  the 
senora  fieed  not  know."  And  she  shot  one  wicked 
glance  at  him.  "  Indeed,  Diego  has  of  late  days 
been  most  fitful,  and  the  time  does  not  seem  a  good 
one  to  tell  him  our  thoughts." 

"  Must  we  wait,  then,  the  humor  of  Don  Zanalta  ?  " 
asked  Constante,  with  some  impatience.  "  I  heartily 
wish  that  he  himself  had  a  lady-love  —  we  could 
count  more  surely  on  his  sympathy ;  but  our  gra 
cious  Don  singles  out  no  lady  for  his  devotion." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Ninon,  doubtfully.  "  He 
seems  to  have  a  rose-bower  ever  over  his  fancies  — 
one  never  guesses  who  his  smiles  fall  on ;  but  this 
I  do  know,  he  was  severe  with  black  Gourfi  yester 
day,  and  I  heard  Gourfi  complain  because  a  fight 
for  <  master's  demoiselle  '  had  left  him  with  a  lame 
shoulder,  and  I  have  wondered  much  who  *  master's 
demoiselle  '  can  be.  It  is  a  lady  of  course,  else 
Gourfi  would  not  have  said  'demoiselle.'  But  it 
would  go  ill  with  his  temper  should  he  think  me 
curious.  And  well  am  I  pleased  that  you  will  now 
be  near  for  me  to  confide  in,  for  of  late  I  have  had 
many  curious  fancies  about  Diego,  and  never  a  safe 
ear  in  which  to  whisper  them." 

"  By  our  troth,  then,  you  are  lending  to  me  some 
of  your  fancies, "confessed  Constante,  at  the  thought 
of  "master's  demoiselle  "  and  the  wounded  shoulder. 
"  I  pledge  you  I  will  be  a  willing  listener." 

;<  Very  well ;  but  you  must  not  make  oath  of  our 
troth  until  we  are  trothed."  And  she  shook  her  head 
warningly. 

"But  what  more  is  there  to  be  said  between  us?" 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  239 

demanded  her  lover,  in  dismay.  "  Have  I  not  pro 
tested  I  adore  you  —  have  you  not  been  gracious 
enough  to  accept  my  love  —  have  I  — 

"Ah,  there!  there!"  she  laughed.  "And  pray, 
monsieur,  am  I  to  plight  troth  to  each  gentleman 
who  is  pleased  to  tell  me  he  loves  me?  Believe 
me,  should  I  have  done  so,  you  would  have  a  long 
list  of  fiances  to  pass  ere  reaching  my  hand." 

"  Never  mind ;  I  would  fight  my  way  through  if 
you  threw  but  a  smile  of  encouragement  to  me. 
Tell  me  what  I  am  to  accomplish  ere  you  will  con 
sider  me  your  fiance,  and  let  me  hear  also  those 
puzzling  fancies  about  the  seiior  —  your  brother." 

"  We  will  commence  first  with  the  fancies,"  she 
decided,  "  and  afterward,  if  you  are  trusty  —  well,  we 
will  see.  But  this  is  serious  —  this  of  Diego.  I 
thought  of  telling  it  to  Father  Joseph,  but  have 
not  yet  found  courage.  Constante,  some  evil  one 
has  woven  a  spell  about  Diego.  He  is  possessed." 

"  Possessed  !  —  and  of  what  ? " 

"  By  evil  spirits  —  the  evil  spirit.  It  keeps  him 
awake  in  the  nights.  He  talks  to  it  —  I  heard  him. 
He  moans  and  groans  for  it  to  leave  him  —  to  go 
back  to  the  grave.  He  muttered  of  masses  he 
would  have  said.  He  complained  that  it  was  the 
woman,  the  accursed  woman,  who  held  the  knife 
—  not  he.  He  had  touched  no  one.  Now  that  is 
the  way  he  did  talk  all  alone  in  his  chamber,  and 
when  I,  almost  distracted,  did  call  and  ask  after  his 
health  he  was  impatient,  and  made  reply  ttiat  he 
had  slept  poorly  and  had  some  troublous  dream. 
Now  what  think  you  ?  " 


240  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  That  perhaps  your  brother  may  have  been  truth 
ful,  but  forgot  part  of  the  truth,"  said  Raynel,  with 
a  sympathetic  understanding  of  such  possibilities. 
"  Did  he  say  aught  of  the  quality  or  quantity  of 
wine  he  had  drank  before  retiring? " 

"  Oh,  you  think  it  was  wine,  then  ?  No,  no  indeed  ! 
I  am  sure  not.  It  was  an  evening  when  he  had  no 
company ;  when  he  was  engaged  in  looking  over 
accounts,  and  sorting  old  papers  and  early  records 
of  life  here.  All  his  day  had  been  quiet  —  not  one 
thing  to  make  him  disturbed,  and  I  am  sure  no 
drinking  of  wine  ;  and  then  —  well,  there  have  been 
other  times." 

" Other  dreams?" 

"  No  ;  words  in  the  daylight.  He  talks  alone.  It 
was  never  so  before.  I  heard  him  in  the  garden, 
when  the  roses  hid  me.  He  spoke  again  of  the 
accursed  woman,  and  her  eyes  that  haunted  him. 
He  was  telling  himself  that  something  he  had  seen 
in  the  night  was  a  shadow,  nothing  more,  and  then 
he  told  himself  it  was  the  fault  of  the  woman  whose 
eyes  he  hated ;  but  the  something  he  had  seen  he 
did  not  name,  only  said,  '  It  was  but  a  shadow  under 
the  trees —  a  fancy  of  the  darkness.'  Now  what  am 
I  to  think  —  is  it  the  priest  I  should  speak  to,  or  the 
physician  ?  " 

"  Let  us  not  be  hasty  in  this  matter ;  it  is  worth 
consideration.  I  will  do  anything  you  wish  if  I 
may  help  you.  But  ghosts  under  the  trees,  and  the 
fear  of  a  woman's  eyes !  Well,  one  can  scarce  tell 
what  key  will  unlock  the  riddle.  If  we  could  but 
guess  who  the  woman —  the  '  accursed '  one  —  might 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  241 

be  —  scarcely    the    '  demoiselle '    of    whom    Gourfi 
spoke?" 

For  in  his  mind  was  the  fair,  strong,  bewildering 
face  of  Denise  as  she  looked  that  evening  in  the 
house  of  Monsieur  Lamort.  That  could  never  be 
the  face  Zanalta  shrank  from ;  those  eyes,  clear  as 
the  eyes  of  a  child,  could  never  be  the  eyes  he  called 
'accursed.'  There  were  evidently  two  women  who 
held  the  interest  of  Don  Diego ;  and  Raynel,  in  his 
usual  impulsive  manner,  had  leaped  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  knew  the  one,  and  as  quickly  decided  to  check 
mate  any  little  game  his  future  brother-in-law  might 
have  in  that  direction.  Yet  there  was  another  part 
of  Ninon's  confidences  less  easy  to  fathom. 

That  other  woman  —  the  woman  with  the  eyes! 

"  I  do  not  know,"  acknowledged  the  lady,  regret 
fully  ;  "  indeed  I  fear  it  is  no  woman  at  all,  only 
a  sick  fancy  of  the  brain,  for  he  grows  stranger  than 
of  old.  He  stays  away  some  nights,  and  money 
is  lost  at  games  with  some  stranger.  I  heard  of  that 
through  the  Ronandos,  who  have  had  much  trouble 
with  such  games.  He  only  amuses  himself  with 
curious  rascals,  so  he  says,  but  I  would  rather 
he  played  games  with  good  Father  Joseph,  who  loves 
well  the  pastime  and  a  glass  of  good  wine.  Such 
friends  I  am  sure  would  not  send  him  to  dreams  of 
men's  ghosts,  or  the  awful  eyes  of  women  —  for  it 
must  be  only  fancy." 

They  had  arisen  and  walked  the  length  of  the 
arbor,  their  tones  low  and  secretive.  The  bees 
humming  over  the  countless  blossoms  broke  on  the 
silence  almost  as  sharply  as  their  words,  and  they 

16 


242  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

would  have  deemed  it  impossible  that  any  ear  could 
have  heard  their  confidences. 

But  as  they  retraced  their  steps  and  came  to 
a  path  crossing  their  own,  Ninon  gave  a  low  cry  of 
surprise  as  their  former  slave,  Venda,  walked  into 
the  arbor  from  that  side-path  of  the  roses,  and 
halted  respectfully  that  she  might  not  cross  before 
them. 

Her  eyes  were  nearer  smiling  than  either  had 
ever  seen  them.  She  walked  as  if  from  the  house. 

"  Venda!  how  comes  it  you  are  in  my  garden?" 
asked  Madame  Villette,  sharply.  "  Who  has  offered 
you  entrance  through  the  gate  that  is  mine  alone? 
You  know  this  is  never  the  walk  for  any  but  my 
friends." 

"  I  know,  mistress.  I  will  kneel  at  your  feet  for 
pardon.  Venda  did  wrong,  btit  she  was  in  haste. 
You  were  ever  kind,  so  please  forgive.  You  forgive  " 
—  she  looked  with  wise  meaning  at  the  two  —  "and 
Venda  make  you  a  charm  to  bind  the  heart  you  lean 
toward.  Venda  know,  and  Venda  wish  you  good." 

"Oh  —  enough!"  agreed  Madame  Ninon,  with 
blushes  and  some  confusion  under  the  calm,  certain 
gaze  of  the  slave-woman.  "  Go  your  way ;  but  in 
future  use  the  gate  of  the  other  garden  when  you 
have  an  errand,  and  let  Venda  keep  that  which  she 
knows  to  herself." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,  little  madame.  To  you 
and  master  I  wish  a  paradise." 

She  made  one  of  those  profound  oriental  bows, 
touching  her  lips  and  her  breast  with  her  hand,  and 
then  passed  out  of  sight  beyond  the  roses. 


THE   WOOING   OF   NINON.  243 

"  Venda  is  never  Venda  without  some  such  strange 
barbaric  action,"  remarked  Madame  Ninon.  "  I  do 
believe  she  makes  practice  of  such  ceremony  the 
better  to  impress  the  other  slaves  with  fear,  and  even 
the  whites  with  belief  in  her  charms.  It  makes  her 
more  graceful  than  the  others,  but  beyond  that  it 
means  nothing." 

"Perhaps  not,"  agreed  Raynel,  dubiously ;  "but 
with  all  her  soft  words  I  would  just  as  soon  be 
prayed  into  paradise  by  other  lips  than  by  the 
dancer  of  that  heathenish  performance  we  witnessed 
in  the  house  of  Monsieur  Lamort.  I  have  shuddered 
in  the  night  when  I  thought  of  her  face  —  her  eyes 
—  and  the  hand  held  out  to  a  dancer  invisible.  I 
have  never  seen  any  human  thing  that  impressed 
me  as  that  strange-eyed  slave." 

Ninon  laughed.  Venda  had  always  been  most 
docile  with  her,  and  it  amused  her  to  hear  of  the 
alarm  she  inspired  in  others,  even  in  Diego  Zanalta 
after  years  under  the  same  roof. 

She  stopped  abruptly  in  her  laugh  and  walk, 
looking  up  into  her  lover's  face  with  a  sudden 
inspiration. 

"  Now  if  Diego  had  said  in  his  sleep  that  it  was  a 
black  woman  whose  eyes  he  hated  I  should  think  it 
was  Venda." 

'Venda!" 

"  Just  so ;  his  avoidance  of  her  was  so  marked. 
He  never  once  took  from  her  hand  a  cup  or  a  bit  of 
fruit.  Often  have  I  wondered  that  he  did  not  sell  a 
slave  he  could  not  endure  near  him.  And  now  — 
but  I  am  silly  to  have  such  thoughts;  they  came 


244  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

all  in  a  moment,  when  you  too  spoke  of  her  with 
distrust.  It  is  not  likely,  is  it,  that  Don  Diego 
Zanalta,  who  has  had  black  people  by  the  dozens, 
should  be  haunted  by  one  slave-woman  whom  he 
bought  and  sold?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DIEGO   ZANALTA   LAYS    PLANS    AND    SEftORA    ZANALTA 
SPEAKS    HER    MIND. 

WHILE  the  lovers  •  talked  in  the  arbor  and  laid 
plans  to  discover  the  cause  of  Diego's  ill  rest, 
Diego  himself  was  closeted  with  Father  Joseph  in 
the  house  of  the  priest,  and  listened  eagerly  to  a 
story  he  had  asked  for. 

"  On  a  Christmas  night,  you  say,  and  in  the  year 
17 — ?  Now  tell  me,  did  you  learn  nothing  but  the 
date  —  no  family  name,  no  trinkets  —  or  did  you 
ask?" 

"  I  asked.  To  every  question  the  answer  was  '  no.' 
Mother  Agnace  was  thought  to  know  something,  but 
she  is  no  longer  living.  Her  directions  were,  how 
ever,  that  Denise  was  meant  for  the  convent." 

"  Strange  that  so  noble  a  woman  would  lend  her 
aid  to  a  thing  that  if  known  would  be  resented  as 
an  outrage  by  every  gentleman's  child  who  is 
instructed  in  the  convent,"  said  Zanalta,  with  a  fine 
burst  of  indignation.  "  I  beg  you  will  not  think  me 
demented,  Father  —  you  look  at  me  as  if  you  feared 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.        245 

so.  I  can  not  confide  in  you  this  morning.  I  must 
examine  more  deeply  into  this  question  before  I 
dare  put  it  in  words  ;  but  if  it  proves,  as  I  have  rea 
son  to  believe,  a  great  wrong  has  been  waiting  all 
these  years  for  our  righting,  ever  since  that  Christ 
mas  night  —  it  was  the  night,  not  the  day  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  night  —  a  night  well  remembered, 
because  two  infants  were  left  at  the  gate  after  the 
darkness  fell ;  the  other  an  octoroon  child  that  did 
not  live  the  night  through.  But  tell  me,  my  son,  all 
this  inquiry  means  no  harm  to  the  girl — Denise?" 

"  No  harm  ;  it  may  mean  a  change  in  her  life,  but 
I  do  not  think  it  will  prove  unpleasant ;  however,  I 
can  tell  you  no  more  than  that.  I  am  much  in  your 
debt  for  your  investigation  of  this  matter.  Let  me 
know  if  I  can  ever  serve  you  so  well." 

But  scarce  waiting  to  hear  the  reply  of  the  priest, 
he  hastened  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  dwelling  and 
walked  jubilant  in  the  sunshine.  His  walking-stick 
was  flourished  jauntily  as  he  moved.  He  wanted  to 
laugh  aloud  in  his  content.  If  dreams  ever  troubled 
him,  they  were  forgotten  then.  He  seemed  a  dif 
ferent  man.  A  beggar  asked  alms  shrinkingly  as 
he  passed,  and  was  astonished  at  the  handful  of  coin 
flung  to  him.  Diego  was  in  a  rare  mood. 

"  That  Christmas-night,"  he  repeated  to  himself, 
"  a  day  of  all  days  the  best ;  not  one  can  come  in  evi 
dence  against  my  plan,  for  Venda  at  that  time  was 
with  Felice  St.  Malo  on  the  plantation  of  Madame 
Solle.  Madame  is  dead,  Felice  is  dead  —  who  is  there 
to  come  in  evidence  that  a  child  was  not  born  of 
Venda  there  on  that  plantation,  a  child  whose  father 


246  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

was  white  and  a  child  that  was  given  no  likeness  to 
her  mother  ?  Such  things  have  been  ;  and  if  she  con 
fesses  it  —  if  ?—  she  mnst*—\  will  have  little  trouble 
to  establish  my  claim  to  the  child,  when  the  mother 
belonged  to  me  at  the  time  of  the  birth.  Popular 
opinion  will  be  with  me  ;  the  convent  dare  not  com 
bat  strongly,  for  every  white  citizen  will  be  enraged 
at  the  chance  that  his  child  has  been  educated  arm 
in  arm  with  a  ncgrcsse!  Ah,  it  all  plays  into  my 
hands  so  smoothly  ;  the  plan  is  admirable.  I  pre 
pare  my  paper  for  the  recovery  of  my  slave.  I  get 
Venda's  mark  to  it.  I  receive  the  signature  of  an 
alcalde.  I  claim  my  pretty  saint  and  spend  a  honey 
moon  somewhere  among  the  islands  of  the  gulf 
shore.  I  may  have  been  unlucky  at  play  of  late  — 
to  Rochelle  is  that  blame  — but  fortune  is  somewhat 
at  my  call  despite  the  cards." 

He  was  walking  along  the  road  by  the  river  where 
boats  of  different  sorts  were  drawn  up  with  their 
noses  against  the  shore,  when,  glancing  out  over  the 
writhing  water,  his  eyes  fell  on  a  boat  cutting  its 
way  through  and  sending  the  spray  flying  to  either 
side.  Few  of  the  blacks  propelled  a  boat  like  that ; 
they  ever  prefer  a  song  to  the  dip  of  the  oars,  and 
the  air  one  that  moves  slowly. 

Zanalta  halted  to  watch  it,  and  as  the  rower's  face 
was  seen  he  walked  down  to  the  water's  edge  and 
beckoned  to  the  man. 

"  I  was  sure  of  your  face  though  afar  off,  Monsieur 
Robert,"  he  said,  as  the  man  saluted,  "and  glad  am 
I  it  is  you  instead  of  your  men  whom  I  chance  on, 
for  I  would  like  much  to  transact  a  matter  of  busi- 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.         247 

ness  with  the  Sea  Gull,  and  it  pleases  me  to  deal 
with  principals." 

"At  your  service,  senor,"  said  the  man,  quietly. 
"  I  trust  it  may  be  possible  to  meet  your  desires." 

"  An  easy  matter  enough,  if  you  can  give  me  the 
vessel  for  a  month,  manned  as  it  is,"  returned  Zan- 
alta,  and  smiled  at  the  surprise  in  the  sailor's  eyes. 
"You  are  astonished  at  that?  Surely,  your  com 
mander  can  spare  it  to  me  so  long.  I  well  know  he 
does  not  live  in  it  steadily  of  late,  for  he  is  too  often 
on  shore,  and  I  have  reason  to  think  spends  time 
inland  among  the  Natchez  —  but  it  matters  not  at  all 
to  me  where  he  may  roam,  and  I  will  not  interfere 
with  his  traffic,  whatever  it  is ;  all  I  ask  is  room  for 
myself  and  —  a  companion." 

The  man  Robert  shook  his  head,  with  a  deprecat 
ing  smile. 

"  It  would  distress  me  to  refuse  you,  senor,  but  I 
fear  it  will  not  be  possible.  You  know  Monsieur 
Rochelle  is  a  gentleman  of  many  moods,  and  as 
restless  as  a  sea  gull  itself.  He  has  never  yet  parted 
with  his  vessel  to  another  lest  a  moment  should  come 
when  he  would  need  it,  and  to  let  it  go  to  a  stranger 
besides  yourself  —  I  can  question  him  for  you,  but 
I  fear  not." 

Zanalta  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then : 

"  Perhaps  when  you  tell  him  my  companion  will 
be  a  —  a  lady  he  will  have  more  sympathy  for  my 
desires." 

"Oh,  a  lady!  Well"  —  and  the  man  smiled  and 
looked  more  encouraging — "  it  may  be.  When  will 
you  want  to  go  aboard?" 


248  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  I  will  want  all  in  readiness  for  three  nights  in 
succession,  not  counting  to-night,  and  a  small  boat 
waiting  at  some  given  point  to  take  us  aboard  at 
any  minute  we  decide  to  go." 

"  I  see."  And  the  sailor  nodded  his  comprehension. 
The  love  of  an  intrigue  was  dear  to  the  heart  of  a 
seaman  in  the  days  when  there  was  romance  to  touch 
it,  and  he  was  convinced  it  was  an  elopement 
Sefior  Zanalta  was  planning  —  well,  it  would  be  a 
diversion.  "  I  can  let  you  know  after  the  stars  shine 
to-night,  not  earlier,"  he  decided. 
"  And  where  ?  " 

"  At  your  own  house,  or  at  a  cafe  where  you  have 
met  Monsieur  Rochelle;  it  is  called  Manette's." 

"  Let  it  be  there.     I  will  go  for  the  answer  instead 
of  having  it  come  to  me.     At  what  hour?  " 
"  Nine  by  the  clock." 

"  So  let  it  be.  A  good-morning  to  you,  Monsieur 
Robert ;  and  remember  I  am  counting  much  on  the 
assistance  of  your  vessel  —  indeed  I  would  like  much 
to  see  Rochelle  himself  in  the  matter  if  it  be  at  all 
convenient,  but  he  is  such  a  will-o'-the-wisp." 

"  He  shall  hear  of  your  desire,  at  all  events," 
promised  the  other,  "  and  if  he  is  within  easy  dis 
tance  he  is  likely  to  speak  with  you  in  person  of  the 
matter." 

Then  they  parted,  and  Don  Zanalta  went  on  his 
way,  well  pleased  at  the  meeting,  for  he  observed 
that  Robert  was  inclined  to  favor  him,  and  that  was 
well  to  begin  with.  And  what  plan  so  good  as  using 
the  Sea  Gull  for  his  flight  ?  In  a  month  she  would  be 
tractable  enough  —  she  the  "  saintly  slip,"  as  he  called 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.         249 

her.  Then  it  would  be  safe  to  land  ;  she  would  be 
resigned.  He  would  settle  on  some  abode  for  her 
away  from  the  town  house  ;  he  was  inclined  to  have 
her  delicately  lodged  unless  she  prove  unreasonable  ; 
and  a  month  alone  with  him  at  sea,  and  only  the 
faces. of  lawless  seamen  to  meet  her  own !  Then  the 
certainty  borne  in  upon  her  that  she  was,  for  all  her 
fine  learning,  only  a  slave — the  daughter  of  an 
African  voudou  —  ah,  the  entire  plan  was  admirable ! 
He  forgot  the  years  of  weariness  that  vexed  him  at 
times.  He  was  young  again  with  the  youth  of  the 
early  summer.  Through  the  medium  of  this  new 
emotion  and  prospective  triumph,  he  felt  that  For 
tune  was  turning  with  him  into  the  path  of  his 
desires,  and  he  walked  confidently  to  meet  her. 

Other  canoes  were  moving  on  the  waters  that 
morning  —  canoes  with  feather-trimmed  occupants, 
who  gathered  in  groups  and  watched  curiously  the 
faces  of  the  white  senors,  who  wondered  at  the 
simultaneous  coming  of  the  Natchez,  and  noted  also 
that  they  were  dressed  in  their  richest,  as  if  for 
some  stately  ceremony ;  but  what  affair  of  moment 
could  bring  them  thus  uninvited  to  the  dwelling- 
place  of  the  whites  ? 

Don  Zanalta  noted  them,  though  too  much 
absorbed  in  himself  to  question  ;  but  as  he  passed 
the  house  of  Lamort  he  observed  a  group  of  the 
somber-faced  red  men  there  too.  They  spoke  to 
Delogne  at  the  entrance.  He  was  directing  them 
to  the  Cabildo,  but  their  interpreter,  a  French  half- 
breed  woman,  was  stupid. 

"This  no  Cabildo?" 


250  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  No,  no  ;  this  house  of  Lamort  —  alcalde  —  com* 
prehend?" 

"  Lamort!"  Two  or  three  of  the  men  repeated 
the  name  and  nodded  to  each  other. 

"Where  Lamort?"  they  asked;  and  Delogne 
looked  despair.  They  were  like  stolid,  persistent 
children. 

"  Who  sent  you  here?"  he  demanded,  in  return. 
The  woman  consulted  with  the  others,  and  then 
spoke : 

"The  man,  Rochelle  and  his  Natchez  man, 
Nicholas.  He  say  come  down  and  hear  in  the 
Cabildo  the  Natchez  who  are  slaves  ask  to  be  free. 
The  great  king  over  the  water  made  them  free 
many  years  ago,  yet  they  are  held.  Now  over  the 
water,  it  is  said,  there  is  much  freedom.  The 
people  sing  songs  and  dance  dances  over  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  nobles.  There  are  nobles  here  in  this 
land ;  they  hold  the  people  of  the  Natchez  captive. 
The  time  has  come  to  ask  for  the  thing  the  great 
king  sent  to  them." 

Zanalta  heard  the  name  Rochelle,  and  retraced 
his  steps. 

"Can  I  be  of  any  assistance  to  you,  Chevalier?" 
he  inquired,  carelessly;  and  Delogne  hesitated, 
though  apparently  needing  assistance. 

"  If  you  could  persuade  these  red  gentlemen  that 
no  amount  of  waiting  about  the  door  will  bring  the 
Cabildo  here,  then  I  do  not  doubt  you  would  be 
doing  Monsieur  Lamort  a  favor,"  he  confessed. 
"They  appear  to  have  a  settled  idea  that  it  is  here 
justice  is  dealt." 


DIEGO   ZANALTA   LAYS   PLANS.  251 

"  Did  Monsieur  Rochelle  send  you  here  ? "  Zanalta 
asked  the  woman ;  and  she  questioned  the  others. 
They  shook  their  heads  and  muttered  negatives. 

"Cabildo,"  they  repeated,  and  then — "but  red 
men  all  say  white  Lamort." 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  concluded  Zanalta;  "they  are 
like  wild  animals  still  —  these  Indians  —  animals 
that  have  seen  traps.  Lamort  has  a  fancy  for  inter 
esting  himself  in  these  natives.  They  have  learned 
his  amiable  weakness,  and  come  no  doubt  for  his 
sanction  ere  they  will  take  the  advice  of  any  other. 
They  are  just  so  doltish  —  these  savages.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  call  one  of  Lamort's  blacks." 

"  Certainly  ;  here,  Nappo  !  " 

Nappo  appeared,  with  curiosity  and  some  alarm 
visible  in  his  big  black  eyes.  Tales  of  massacres 
had  made  the  red  man  the  terror  of  the  African. 

"  This  boy  will  walk  with  you  the  path  to  the 
Cabildo,"  spoke  Zanalta  in  a  tone  of  authority  to  the 
natives ;  "  do  you  comprehend  ?  You  go  there  ;  there 
you  will  hear  the  things  of  the  law.  That  is  all. 
Go!" 

Nappo  nodded  to  them,  motioning  the  direction 
in  which  they  were  to  be  guided.  The  half-breed 
woman  repeated  the  message,  and  the  red  men 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other  ;  then,  with  a  signifi 
cant  grunt  behind  closed  lips  and  a  glance  of  utter 
disdain  at  poor  Nappo,  they  turned  as  with  one 
accord  from  the  door  and  passed  across  the  grounds 
to  a  different  street  to  the  one  pointed  out  for 
them.  The  interpeter  followed  without  a  word  at 
their  heels. 


252  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  You  perceive,"  remarked  Zanalta,  with  amuse 
ment,  "  they  know  quite  well  where  to  go,  but  stub 
bornly  waited  here  that  they  might  see  Monsieur 
Lamort,  whether  he  wished  it  or  not.  They  are 
doubtless  little  kings  in  their  own  tribes,  and 
resented  a  black  messenger.  Is  it  so,  then,  that  the 
red  slaves  have  thus  suddenly  prepared  demands 
for  their  freedom  ?  for  if  so,  of  course  Monsieur 
Lamort  has  acquaintance  with  the  fact." 

"  Yes,  senor.  It  is  discussed  in  the  Cabildo  this 
morning.  The  revolution  of  France  is  sending 
echoes  to  every  land ;  this  movement  of  the  red  men 
is  only  one  expression  of  it." 

"And  a  useless  one,"  commented  the  other.  "  The 
planters  will  simply  see  that  the  law  for  their  libera 
tion  be  repealed  —  a  senseless  law,  made  years  ago  in 
a  court  across  the  water,  and  by  people  who  had  no 
practical  knowledge  of  this  land's  requirements. 
Who  could  have  advised  the  savages  that  the  old  law 
was  yet  in  existence  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,"  returned  Delogne,  briefly.  "  The 
red  men  spoke  of  but  two  people,  that  Monsieur 
Rochelle  whom  they  name  the  'night-hawk,'  be 
cause  he  is  never  seen  among  them  when  the  sun 
shines,  and  then  another  who  is  evidently  his  officer, 
but  partly  of  the  Natchez  blood.  Beyond  that  they 
told  me  nothing." 

"And  Monsieur  Lamort,"  persisted  Zanalta,  "is 
he  also  at  the  Cabildo  in  their  interest  ?  If  so,  they 
surely  have  widely  different  advocates  —  Monsieur 
Lamort  and  a  lawless  ranger  of  the  waters." 

"  Monsieur  Lamort  is  not  here  at  present.     When 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.        253 

you  see  him  he  will  without  doubt  give  you  any 
required  information  on  the  matter,  and  as  I  have 
duties  I  must  bid  you  good-day." 

"  A  most  assuming  fellow,"  murmured  the  Span 
iard,  looking  after  him  with  little  love,  "and  evi 
dently  cultivating  as  close  a  mouth  as  his  master. 
Well,  little  care  I  for  the  doings  of  the  island  if  I 
but  secure  the  vessel  and  the  maid.  Curious  that 
Rochelle  and  his  men  should  also  have  a  finger  in 
this  pudding  of  Indian  slavery — one  from  which 
there  is  never  a  plum  to  be  plucked.  Um  !  it  would 
go  hard  with  Durande  if  the  savages  should  get 
their  demands  —  there  are  many  of  them  on  his 
plantation;  though  I  need  not  waste  pity  on  him,  for 
I  have  not  yet  forgotten  the  trouble  he  made  me 
once  over  the  boundary-line.  That  reminds  me  to 
convey  the  diagram  of  the  old  estate  to  Monsieur 
Lamort.  I  will  need  his  aid  in  claiming  my  slave, 
and  it  is  well  to  pave  the  way  by  offering  a  favor. 
Strange  that  he  cares  so  little  about  incurring  the 
hate  of  the  ruling  class  here.  Within  a  month  he 
has  made  enemies  of  the  Ronandos  and  all  their 
connection.  Now  it  will  be  Durande.  Well,  he  has 
been  a  power  here  for  two  years.  It  is  well  he  is 
digging  a  pitfall  for  his  feet,  else  his  sway  might 
have  grown  as  wide  as  the  land  —  yes,  would  have, 
had  he  been  careful  enough  to  conciliate  the  right 
people  ;  and  yet,  a  man  may  grow  tired  of  statecraft 
and  the  ambitions  of  it,  for  all  of  this  spring-time 
I  have  cared  nothing  who  ruled.  The  eyes  of  Denise 
have  been  more  often  in  my  memory  than  all  the 
machinery  of  the  Cabildo  ;  but  Victor  Lamort  —  pah  ! 


254  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

he  is  too  cold  and  correct  of  pulse  to  appreciate 
aught  but  musty  documents  and  archive  laws. 
Strange  —  he  is  not  so  old." 

He  had  reached  his  own  grounds,  though  his  feet 
had  found  the  way  by  instinct ;  his  thoughts  were 
elsewhere  than  on  the  path. 

And  on  the  threshold  he  met  Senora  Zanalta. 

An  excited,  irate,  and  furious  senora,  whose  bridal- 
veil  was  twisted  into  a  rope  by  her  restless  ringers, 
and  all  the  curls  and  brocades  adjusted  for  the  por 
trait  were  sadly  disturbed. 

"  Ah  —  gr-r-r !  We  are  disgraced,  our  house  is  no 
more,  the  name  of  Zanalta  (thanks  to  the  saints,  I 
was  not  born  of  their  blood)  will  be  shrouded  in 
shame  !  Diego  Zanalta,  have  you  no  feeling  in  your 
breast  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  you  that  your  half-sister 
stoops  to  intrigue  with  an  artisan  hired  by  me  to  do 
service  —  a  clever  trickster  whom  she  fancies  cares 
for  herself  instead  of  her  moneys?  Oh,  it  is  fine  ! 
We  are  to  be  made  the  laughter  of  the  town,  and  he 
-  he,  the  ingrate  !  Are  you  dumb  that  you  say  noth 
ing?  Well,  then,  I  will  not  be  silent.  I,  Mercedes 
Sofie  Zanalta,  to  be  thus  tricked  and  schemed  against 
day  by  day.  Not  that  I  would  so  much  as  use  his  coat 
for  a  carpet,  or  his  head  for  a  footstool.  May  the 
saints  deform  him  !  Not  that  I  care  who  has  him, 
with  his  brushes  and  his  smirks.  Ah  — h!  if  he 
had  not  run  so  fast !  " 

And  the  beringed  fingers  of  the  lady  opened  and 
closed  with  a  combative,  destructive  movement  sug 
gesting  scratches  and  loosened  tresses. 

Her  brother-in-law   dropped   on   a  divan,  with  a 


DIEGO    ZANALTA    LAYS   PLANS.  255 

sigh  of  resignation.  And  it  had  been  so  lately  he 
praised  her  improved  temper  ! 

"  Well,  my  dear  senora,  continue  your  scoldings,  if 
they  are  not  completed.  When  you  have  expressed 
all  your  annoyance  I  will  be  pleased  to  hear  the  rea 
son.  Who  has  tricked  or  robbed  you  ?  " 

"  Robbed  me!  Holy  St.  Francis!  Did  I  want 
him?  Do  I  care  who  he  prances  around?  I  tell 
you,  Diego  Zanalta,  I  have  disdained  courtiers  in 
Madrid  whose  shoes  this  lackey  would  not  be 
allowed  to  lace !  Think  not  that  because  I  wed 
with  your  brother  it  was  for  lack  of  more  illustrious 
offers.  Do  you  heed  me  ?  " 

"  I  hear  you,  most  certainly,"  he  agreed,  with 
weariness.  "  I  fully  understand  that  our  family 
should  feel  honored  by  an  alliance  with  your  illus 
trious  self ;  you  can  have  no  argument  with  me  on 
that  score,  though  my  brother  was  at  times  less 
gallant  than  I,  and  even  wished  aloud  that  the  ship 
had  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ere  he  set  sail  for 
the  port  where  he  first  met  you ;  but  for  such  men 
beauty  was  never  intended,  my  honored  senora.  Now 
by  me  you  were  always  held  at  your  true  worth, 
and  if  any  cavalier  has  spurned  your  addresses,  I 
promise  you  he  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  Sacre  !  —  are  you  all  demented  ?  I  care  nothing 
for  the  fellow,  however  much  he  may  have  fancied 
so  —  and  she  too  —  the  fools  !  Not  longer  shall  I 
remain  here,  Diego  Zanalta.  Take  heed,  for  I  swear 
it,  when  the  next  ship  leaves  for  Spain  I  depart  for 
ever  from  these  shores,  Avhere  the  most  illustrious 
names  must  associate  with  the  rabble  to  be  in  the 


256  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

fashion  of  the  times.  Let  your  Ninon  wed  her 
dirty  painter,  as  it  pleases  her.  Oh,  holy  saints  ! 
that  I  should  have  found  them,  he  at  her  feet,  her 
fingers  dabbling  in  his  curls,  and  never  a  blush  on 
her  brazen  cheek.  But  I  assure  you  they  ran  finely 
when  they  saw  me  —  a  brave  lover  for  Madame 
Ninon  Villette,  one  who  flies  before  the  eyes  of  a 
lady  insulted  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  surprised  a  love- 
scene  between  my  sister  and  this  painter,  Raynel  ?  " 
demanded  her  kinsman,  arousing  himself  to  interest. 
"  Do  you  not  think  your  fancy  has  been  warped  by 
your  fears?  I  have  noted  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  No,  thanks  to  their  duplicity  —  ah!  did  I  not 
hear  them  laugh  that  they  had  cheated  us  so  ?  Even 
my  name  was  spoken  by  them,  and  well  it  was  for 
them  both  that  they  fled." 

"  Raynel !  "  And  Zanalta's  brow  had  a  deep 
wrinkle  of  thought  drawn  across  it.  The  senora 
welcomed  it  as  a  sign  of  his  anger,  and  poured  out 
various  grievances  in  the  matter,  while  the  ethereal 
bridal-veil  steadily  lost  all  semblance  to  anything 
so  poetical,  and  with  each  shred  of  it  plucked  by  her 
hands  she  repeated  her  unchangeable  resolve  to 
betake  herself  from  the  shores  of  the  sauvage 
people,  that  her  remaining  days  might  be  lived 
among  surroundings  more  to  her  taste. 

But  the  ears  of  Zanalta  were  closed  to  her.  He 
was  deliberating  over  this  story  she  had  brought 
him.  If  it  should  all  be  true,  if  Ninon  should  even 
want  to  marry  the  fellow  !  And  as  he  had  in  truth 
not  a  vestige  of  power  over  her  beyond  what  she 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.        257 

chose  to  allow  him  — well,  there  were  reasons  why 
he  should  not  be  displeased,  and  the  chief  reason 
was  that  he  thought  Constante  a  fool. 

"  If  Ninon  had  chosen  a  gallant  of  the  town,  who 
knew  every  gold-piece  left  to  her  by  Villette  — 
some  one  with  an  investigating  mind,  like  Victor 
Lamort  —  well,  it  might  have  proven  awkward  for 
me.  He  would  have  induced  her  to  a  reckoning  of 
every  copper  bit,  and  then  —  but  this  stranger,  a 
fool  in  finances  —  these  artists  and  poets  and  such 
ever  are  ;  and  since  she  will  wed  where  she  likes 
when  the  time  comes,  it  is  best  to  keep  in  her  favor 
and  that  of  the  man  she  smiles  on.  I  may  then  be 
able  to  manage  them  both  if  I  should  ever  need 
their  offices.  Others  will  say  it  is  a  mesalliance,  no 
doubt ;  but  I  will  know  how  to  make  it  serve  my 
turn." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  them  ? "  asked  the  senora 
as  he  arose.  "  You  can  put  her  in  retreat  with  the 
nuns,  can  you  not  ?  When  one  shames  her  family  — " 

"  Enough  !  I  am  weary  of  the  subject.  Had  you, 
senora,  chosen  to  smile  on  the  gentleman  whose 
brushes  enhanced  your  beauty  for  us,  think  you  I 
would  have  shut  you  in  a  convent  ?  Not  at  all.  I 
have  too  much  sympathy  for  the  dreams  of  love." 

And  leaving  the  senora  dumb  with  astonishment 
and  chagrin,  he  repaired  to  his  own  apartment,  but 
not  without  being  followed  by  light-footed  Ninon, 
who  slipped  from  behind  a  friendly  curtain  where 
she  had  been  a  witness  to  the  entire  scene.  To  say 
that  she  was  joyous  over  Diego's  reception  of  the 
damning  proofs  of  her  folly  expressed  feebly  her 

17 


258  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

sensations.  She  had  never  been  over-fond  of  her 
half-brother ;  but  now  for  once  she  entered  his  door 
with  a  rush,  and  caught  his  shoulders  with  her  little 
hands  as  though  to  hug  him  for  his  acknowledged 
sympathy. 

"  There,  there  !  "  he  protested.  "  Has  she  told  the 
truth,  and  does  it  make  you  act  so  like  a  child?  " 

But  she  was  not  to  be  chidden.  She  saw  he  was 
not  angry,  and  her  laugh  was  care-free. 

"  It  is  the  truth,  but  oh,  how  much  we  were 
frightened  !  "  And  her  eyes  were  big  with  memories. 
"  She  burst  through  the  arbor  like  the  tornadoes  that 
blow  on  the  coast.  I  have  been  hidden  ever  since." 

"And  your  gallant  inamorato  —  where  is  he? 
Did  you  discard  him  in  your  fright?  " 

Madame  Villette  gave  him  one  appealing  glance. 
In  vain  she  strove  to  control  the  curves  of  her 
laughing  mouth.  The  humor  of  the  situation 
proved  too  much  for  her,  and  her  complex  emotions 
were  expressed  by  unrestrained  laughter,  though  the 
tears  shone  on  her  lashes. 

"  He  never  waited  for  dismissal,"  she  confessed. 
"  He  ran  one  way  and  I  ran  the  other.  Ah,  mcrci! 
how  frightened  I  was  lest  she  should  catch  us ! " 

"  And  you  'are  in  love,  then,  with  a  man  who 
could  desert  you  in  the  face  of  danger?"  queried 
Zanalta.  But  she  smiled  at  him  flippantly,  and  a 
little  pitifully. 

"  As  if  that  made  any  difference,"  she  retorted, 
disdainfully.  ' 'A  ny  man  would  have  run  if  Senora 
Zanalta  had  appeared  to  him  with  such  anger.  But 
it  is  not  either  for  what  he  does  or  leaves  undone 


DIEGO  ZANALTA  LAYS  PLANS.        259 

that   I   care   for  him;  I  care  just  because  he  is  — 
himself." 

"  And  who  is  to  tell  you  that  he  does  not  address 
you  because  of  the  report  that  the  Widow  Villette 
has  a  handsome  store  of  wealth  laid  by  for  her? " 

But  she  only  laughed. 

"  It  is  not  the  money,  Diego.  How  ungallant  of 
you  to  suppose  a  man  would  only  look  at  me  if  I  was 
well-dowered !  " 

Zanalta  seemed  to  scarcely  hear  her.  He  was  look 
ing  with  some  attention  and  perplexity  at  a  compart 
ment  in  his  desk  where  some  papers  were  visible, 
and  he  tossed  them  about  impatiently  as  though  in 
search  of  something. 

"And,  Diego,  there  is  the  Virgin  Constante  was 
to  paint  for  the  chapel,  and  Donna  Zanalta  swears 
it  shall  not  be  now  ;  that  she  has  influence  and  will 
have  the  order  for  it  withdrawn  ;  that  she  — " 

"  Peace  !  "  he  commanded,  sharply.  "  I  scarce  can 
think  for  your  chattering.  Something  has  gone 
from  this  room  since  I  left  here  an  hour  or  so  ago. 
Who  has  entered  here  ?  " 

"  No  one  —  not  a  soul." 

"  No  one  of  whom  you  know,  perhaps,"  he  agreed ; 
"but,  nevertheless,  there  has  been  some  pilfering 
here.  A  parchment  is  gone,  one  with  lettering  in 
red  ink  on  the  outside  ;  the  contents  of  it  one  of  the 
most  ancient  plans  of  land  made  on  these  shores  — 
the  outline  of  a  royal  grant  made  in  the  year  1714, 
surveyed  by  an  order  of  Anthony  Crozat.  It  may 
be  that  the  names  or  dates  tell  you  nothing ;  you 
are  heedless  of  your  own  land  boundaries  as  the 


260  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

birds  that  fly  ;  but  this  document  is  a  curiosity.  I 
held  it  in  my  hand  this  morning- ;  it  was  left  there, 
I  could  swear  to  it,  and  now  it  is  gone." 

"  Is  it  valuable  —  would  it  be  of  money's  worth  to 
any  one?"  asked  Ninon,  searching  diligently  in 
every  portion  of  the  room  for  a  parchment  with 
lettering  of  red. 

"  Money's  worth  ?  No  ;  not  unless  I  should  some 
day  choose  to  reopen  that  contest  of  the  boundary 
with  Durande;  and  —  but,  yes,  it  is  of  worth  in 
money,  too,  for  I  have  promised  a  sight  of  it  to  a 
gentleman  curious  in  such  things,  and  a  person  from 
whom  I  will  want  a  favor  in  return.  It  is  like  witch 
craft  that  it  should  go  just  at  this  time.  Go  question 
all  the  house-servants;  learn  if  any  of  them  were 
seen  to  enter  here.  It  must  be  found.  A  roll  the 
size  of  this,  but  marked  with  red  letters." 

"  Yes,  Diego."  But  Ninon  eyed  him  with  attention 
as  she  neared  the  door.  Was  this  loss  perhaps  only 
an  imaginary  thing,  she  was  asking  herself  —  of 
kindred  to  the  phantoms  with  which  he  talked  in 
the  night-time  ?  "  I  will  make  search,  Diego  ;  but  I 
am  just  the  least  afraid  of  Donna  Zanalta.  She  is 
still  furious  ;  and  Constante  — 

"  Oh,  may  the  devil  seize  Constante  !  Get  you 
gone  !  " 

And  then  Madame  Villette  withdrew  in  haste,  and 
was  fully  convinced  that  the  loss  was  an  imaginary 
one.  For  how  could  any  well-balanced  mind  fling 
execrations  at  the  devoted  head  of  Constante 
Raynel  ? 

And  straightway  the  lady  concluded  to  search  for 


MONSIEUR   LAMORT   PAYS   A  VISIT.  261 

that  wisely  cautious  knight,  and  confer  with  him  on 
the  subject,  instead  of  wasting  precious  time  in 
search  for  an  old  parchment,  red-lettered  and 
ancient  though  Diego  thought  it. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MONSIEUR   LAMORT   PAYS  A  VISIT. 

AND  so  when  Victor  Lamort  himself  chanced  to 
drop  in  for  a  chat  the  paper  was  not  yet  found, 
though  Senor  Zanalta  quickly  smoothed  his  dis 
turbed  countenance,  and  came  forward  to  greet  his 
rare  guest. 

"  I  am  weary  of  the  jangling  across  there  at  the 
Cabildo,"  he  confessed,  "  and  your  gardens  looked 
so  inviting  with  their  shade  that  I  yielded  to  the 
temptation  of  them  and  have' arrived  at  your  door." 

"My  house  is  honored  by  your  visit,  Monsieur 
Lamort,"  returned  Zanalta.  "It  is  an  honor  few 
houses  of  Orleans  can  boast  of,  for  you  ever  seem 
too  busy  a  man  for  rest  under  any  man's  roof  but 
your  own.  And  are  the  affairs  of  the  Cabildo  ended 
for  the  day  ?  And  what  of  the  red  slaves?  " 

"  They  will  be  slaves  but  for  a  little  longer,  senor," 
affirmed  the  other  with  confident  tone.  "  It  has 
been  many  years  since  O'Reilly,  acting  for  the  king 
of  Spain,  prohibited  further  traffic  in  Indian  slaves, 
and  yet  after  more  than  twenty  years  they  toil  on 
the  plantations.  They  are  bought  and  sold  agam 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

to  the  highest  bidder.  But  now  that  they  have 
wakened  to  a  sense  of  their  rights,  and  now  that 
chiefs  from  every  tribe  are  coming  to  the  judgment, 
the  question  can  no  longer  be  dismissed  as  an  indif 
ferent  one  ;  even  Corondalet  perceives  that,  though 
he  objects  to  an  immediate  sweeping  aside  of  the 
present  state  of  things,  and  recommends  compro 
mise.  But  that  of  itself  would  be  a  link  weakened 
in  the  chain  the  red  slave  wears." 

"  Of  course  you  are  aware  that  the  planters  will 
fight  the  case,"  hazarded  Zanalta,  "  and  that  every 
owner  of  slaves,  no  matter  what  their  color  may  be, 
will  range  themselves  against  you  and  your  pro 
teges  ?" 

Lamort  smiled  indifferent  assent. 

"  Yes,  they  tried  to  make  me  understand  that ; 
but  it  will  not  matter.  Every  reform  must  combat 
prejudice." 

"  You  are  courageous,  monsieur,  to  face  the  pros 
pect  of  social  ostracism  for  the  sake  of  some  stupid 
savages  who  can  never  comprehend  your  sacrifice 
for  them." 

"  Scarcely  that,"  returned  Lamort,  still  with  the 
little  smile  about  his  lips.  "  You  see,  notwithstand 
ing  the  fact  that  I  have  remained  three  years  on 
your  shores,  I  am  likely  to  leave  them  in  three  hours 
if  I  no  longer  find  pleasure  here,  or  work  to  interest 
me." 

"  And  the  work  to  interest  you  must  mean  reform 
of  some  sort,"  said  Zanalta,  with  assumed  brightness. 
"  To  me  it  ever  appears  a  matter  for  pity  that  you 
direct  your  endeavors  only  to  the  more  wealthy  ancj 


MONSIEUR   LAMORT   PAYS   A   VISIT.  263 

intelligent  class.  One  grows  sorry  to  see  forever 
some  of  his  friends  being  led  to  the  Cabildo  for  judg 
ment,  as  though  they  were  the  most  insignificant  of 
artisans,  while  in  fact  more  than  one  who  has  been 
brought  to  defeat  at  your  word  served  as  a  law-giver 
himself  at  some  time.  You  have  a  scent  like  an 
Indian  for  game  that  has  stepped  from  the  straight 
path  into  the  shadows  for  an  instant." 

Lamort  rubbed  his  palms  together  in  a  pleased 
way,  accepting  the  words  as  a  compliment. 

"  While  one  is  in  the  world  one  must  do  some 
thing,"  he  observed ;  "  and  what  better  than  to  set 
wrong  right?  The  ruling  class  should,  in  justice, 
pay  a  heavier  price  for  faults  committed  than  the 
masses  of  humanity,  for  their  superior  intelligence 
should  be  weighed  with  the  fault." 

Zanalta  glanced  at  him,  with  a  little  shiver.  He 
could  see  a  certain  narrow  groove  after  all  in  the 
man  they  all  thought  so  calm,  so  evenly  balanced. 
He  seemed  for  one  instant  to  perceive  in  him  one 
idea  embodied,  and  that  idea  the  meting  out  of  jus 
tice  according  to  his  conception  of  the  word.  It  is 
the  one-idea  man  who  develops  into  the  fanatic  — 
later  into  the  madman.  And  Zanalta  arose,  with  a 
strange  foreboding  of  evil  as  the  revelation  of  the 
man's  character  came  to  him.  He  only  crossed  the 
room  for  some  water  and  wine  ;  but  the  mere  sense 
of  movement  was  a  relief  after  that  fancy,  and  he 
shook  his  shoulders  as  though  flinging  off  a  weight, 
and  told  himself,  as  Rochelle  had  told  him,  that  he 
was  to  be  congratulated  since  this  justice-hunter  had 
never  shown  signs  of  suspicion  toward  him  —  not 


264  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

even  a  hint  of  smuggling,  a  thing  for  which  many 
gentlemen  had  been  made  to  pay  fines  and  receive  a 
black  mark  across  an  otherwise  faultless  record. 
Assuredly  he  had  been  rarely  lucky. 

And  thinking  so,  he  offered  of  his  choicest  wine  to 
the  fanatic  who  fought  for- justice  in  high  places  — 
wine  brought  ashore  not  long  since  from  Rochelle's 
vessel,  and  presumably  liable  to  confiscation  ;  and 
Monsieur  Lamort  sipped  it  with  innocent  enjoy 
ment,  and  observed  that  he  must  not  tarry,  for 
Delogne  had  met  him  a  little  way  down  the  street 
and  given  him  tidings  that  a  stranger  guest  awaited 
his  attention,  an  old  priest  brought  by  some  of  the 
Indians  from  the  far  north  country.  He  had  grown 
ill  on  the  journey,  and  they,  after  their  fashion,  had 
brought  him  to  the  "  house  of  the  exiles  "  instead  of 
to  the  dwellings  of  his  order. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  undesirable  things  about 
popularity  with  the  natives  and  lower  classes," 
remarked  Zanalta.  "  They  would  turn  your  house 
into  a  cafe  with  never  a  thought  of  your  incon 
venience." 

"  True  ;  but  then,  again,  they  might  be  just  as  will 
ing  to  transform  their  poor  wigwams  into  a  hostelry 
for  me  should  I  require  it,"  said  Lamort,  tranquilly  ; 
"  and  if  they  never  bring  me  a  less  welcome  guest 
than  one  of  those  faithful  pioneer  priests,  of  whom 
I  have  heard  much  —  well,  I  will  have  no  quarrel 
with  them  on  that  score.  By  the  way,  senor,  do 
you  remember  speaking  of  an  old  parchment  in 
your  possession  of  which  I  was  promised  a  sight  — 
a  survey  of  a  certain  royal  grant  given  by  Crozet  ? 


MONSIEUR   LAMORT   PAYS   A   VISIT.  265 

I  may  need  it  in  evidence  within  a  few  days,  so  take 
the  liberty  to  remind  you  of  it." 

"  And  it  shall  be  yours,"  declared  Zanalta.  "  I  am 
a  little  curious  to  know  how  it  can  be  of  use  to  you, 
yet  am  willing  that  it  should  be.  Is  it  a  question  of 
Durande's  land  ? " 

"  Well,  yes;  it  may  be,"  agreed  Lamort,  as  though 
studying  whether  to  give  or  keep  a  secret.  "A 
portion  of  that  estate  was  illegally  confiscated  to  the 
Spanish  crown  ;  the  evidence  is  clear,  and  another 
heir  is  in  the  field.  Without  that  ancient  survey  it 
can  be  proven,  but  with  it,  all  can  be  arranged 
rapidly,  and  with  no  long  expensive  trial  as  to  just 
the  position  of  landmarks  and  so  on." 

"  And  it  will  deprive  Durande  of  his  plantation? " 
asked  Zanalta,  with  utter  amazement  showing  in  his 
face  and  voice.  But  Monsieur  Lamort  smiled  in  a 
deprecating  way  as  he  answered : 

"  Of  part  of  that  plantation  on  which  he  resides  I 
think  I  can  say  — yes;  but  of  course  the  crown  can 
easily  grant  him  another  tract,  and  thus  make 
amends  for  the  fault  of  its  officials  after  the  insur 
rection  of  '68.  Those  in  command  of  the  colony  at 
that  time  confiscated  all  properties  of  the  revolu 
tionists,  and  it  has  been  discovered  at  this  late  day 
that  they  also,  through  excess  of  zeal,  confiscated 
lands  to  which  the  rebels  had  no  claim,  and  after 
ward  distributed  the  same  wherever  their  policy 
prompted  them.  So  it  was  with  a  portion  of  the 
tract  sold  later  to  Monsieur  Durande.  It  is  to  the 
crown  to  which  that  gentleman  must  look  for  another 
land  grant,  and  it  will  doubtless  be  given.  The 


266 


A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 


kings  of  a  country  should  take  heed  that  honest 
dealing  should  be  enacted  there.  Justice  should  be 
ever  held  in  honor." 

Zanalta  noticed,  as  before,  that  firm  setting  of  the 
mouth  at  the  mention  of  justice.  For  an  instant  it 
made  the  speaker's  face  look  harder  and  older. 

"But  the  plantation  —  sacre  !  It  is  the  pride  of 
his  life  —  that  place.  Even  Charles  of  Spain  could 
not  select  in  all  his  lands  an  estate  to  recompense 
Durande  for  '  Royal  Grant.'  Not  that  I  need  vex  my 
mind  with  it,  for  he  reached  over  our  boundary-line 
many  a  furlong.  Yet,  his  Indian  slaves  to  go,  and 
now  his  homestead  !  Well,  it  will  lower  his  hip-h 

1  1     '>  ^ 

head. 

There  was  a  spice  of  satisfaction  in  his  tone, 
though  he  shook  his  head  over  the  evil  prospect 
for  his  neighbor,  and  Monsieur  Lamort,  watching 
closely,  took  advantage  of  it. 

"  So  you  see  I  take  you  into  my  confidence  con 
cerning  this  legal  discussion  that  is  to  be,  that  you 
may  know  the  paper  you  possess  is  to  be  used  only 
in  the  cause  of  justice.  When  it  pleases  you  to  let 
me  see  it,  I  will  be  in  your  debt,  in  behalf  of  the 
new  heir,  and  I  only  ask  an  opportunity  to  return 
so  gracious  a  favor." 

"  Good  !  "  thought  Zanalta  ;  "  it  is  worth  some  plan 
ning  to  hear  him  say  that."  But  aloud  he  said  : 
:<  The  paper  is  for  you,  monsieur  ;  this  day  I  will  look 
for  it ;  and  it  may  indeed  be  that  when  I  take  it  to 
you  I  also  may  ask  a  document  at  your  hands  for  the 
settlement  of  a  provoking  affair.  You,  as  alcalde, 
might  save  me  distraction  concerning  it.  Nothing 


MONSIEUR   LAMORT   PAYS   A   VISIT.  267 

more  serious  than  the  claiming  of  a  slave  whose 
mother,  belonging  to  me,  tricked  me  into  thinking 
dead  that  the  young  one  might  be  reared  out  of 
slavery.  You  understand  ?  Oh,  it  was  well  thought 
out,  and  succeeded  for  a  long  time  ;  and  even  now 
I  want  it  settled  without  the  woman  being  punished, 
as  she  would  be  punished  if  the  case  should  go  before 
the  Cabildo.  I  feel  certain  you  will  be  of  one  mind 
with  me  in  that." 

"  Indeed,  yes  ;  but  you  Spanish  grandees  seldom 
evade  the  spirit  of  the  law  in  that  way."  And  the 
gaze  of  Monsieur  Lamort  was  sharp  and  a  little 
doubtful.  "  Are  your  sympathies  turning  to  the 
side  of  the  unwilling  blacks  who  are  brought  yearly 
to  our  shores?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  returned  Zanalta,  with  assumed 
indifference.  He  knew  it  would  never  do  to  pretend 
any  such  sudden  change  of  opinion.  "  No,  I  think, 
as  always,  that  the  condition  of  the  African  in  our 
land,  surrounded  by  civilization  and  the  example  of 
the  whites,  is  decidedly  preferable  to  the  wild,  use 
less,  savage  life  they  have  hitherto  known.  But  of 
late  you  are  aware  they,  together  with  the  red  slaves, 
clamor  for  privileges  unknown  of  old.  The  revolu 
tion  over  the  seas  breeds  discontent  even  here,  and 
more  than  one  master  has  of  late  found  his  black 
people  hard  to  manage.  The  whipping  of  a  slave 
by  the  authorities  generates  sullen  antagonism 
toward  the  master  who  sent  him  there  ;  and  if  the 
slave  is  a  strong-willed  fellow —  well,  he  will  breed 
discontent  over  an  entire  plantation,  and  the  brutes 
won't  work  so  well.  I've  noted  it  often.  Now  I  do 


268  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

not  want  to  have  that  sort  of  feeling  in  my  fields. 
I  have  too  much  work  to  do.  And  it  is  bad  for  a 
plantation  when  people  say  females  are  flogged 
there.  So  you  comprehend  my  several  reasons  for 
not  going  before  the  regidors  with  my  claim. 
They  would  be  just  and  grant  it,  but  they  would 
also  be  unbending,  and  the  slave-woman  would  be 
cut  in  stripes  for  her  duplicity.  Now,  knowing  the 
case,  can  you  without  annoyance  to  yourself  assist 
in  it?" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Victor  Lamort,  slowly.  He 
understood  now  why  the  survey  had  not  been  given 
to  him  at  once  —  Zanalta  wished  to  purchase  a  favor 
with  it.  Well,  as  Zanalta  stated  his  own  case,  it 
sounded  reasonable  enough.  It  would  be  but  little 
to  do  —  that,  a  stroke  of  a  pen  to  a  document  calling 
for  the  subservience  of  a  slave  to  his  master,  and  in 
exchange  — 

"  You  have  proofs,  of  course,  of  your  claim  ? "  he 
asked.  "  Are  they  satisfactory  ? " 

"Entirely.  The  confession  of  the  mother  — but 
we  will  speak  of  that  when  the  paper  is  prepared,  and 
that  may  be  to-night,  for  I  dislike  much  to  carry  the 
weight  of  a  disagreeable  duty  undone.  At  what 
hour  could  I  call  on  you  in  the  matter?  " 

'  This  or  to-morrow  evening,  after  the  darkness 
falls.  All  the  day  hours  of  this  week  I  will  have 
little  leisure." 

'  This  or  to-morrow  evening  ?  I  am  most  grate 
ful,  monsieur.  You  will  surely  see  me,  and  with  me 
the  ancient  survey  we  spoke  of.  In  fact  I  think  of 
voyaging  for  a  few  weeks  along  the  coast  to  the 


MONSIEUR   LAMORT  PAYS   A  VISIT.  269 

east  if  weather  promises  fair  ;  any  fine  wind  might 
tempt  me,  and  it  would  be  well  to  have  these  land 
cares  off  my  hands." 

"  A  voyage  along-  the  coast?  "  remarked  Monsieur 
Lamort,  with  polite  interest.  "  Yes,  the  sea  is  attract 
ive  to  many  at  this  fair  season.  May  good  weather 
attend  yon,  Senor  Zanalta." 

And  then  the  gentlemen  separated,  each  well 
satisfied  with  the  meeting,  and  at  once  on  the 
departure  of  his  guest  the  Senor  Zanalta  com 
menced  again  the  troublous  search  for  that  survey  ; 
but  in  no  corner  was  it  found.  All  the  threats 
launched  at  the  household  —  and  they  were  many 
and  lurid  —  failed  to  discover  any  vestige  of  it  or 
any  one  who  had  disturbed  it. 

But  the  afternoon  was  slipping  away.  Much  was 
to  be  clone.  When  once  he  made  a  move  toward  the 
recovery  of  that  slave  he  meant  to  act  as  a  falcon 
swoops  with  unerring  swiftness  on  its  victim.  Not 
time  for  cry  or  protest  must  be  allowed,  no  hesita 
tion  to  give  others  time  to  counter-plan  ;  every  por 
tion  of  arrangement  must  be  made  ere  a  word  was 
uttered  of  his  real  meaning.  Meanwhile — that 
survey ! 

And  then  Don  Diego  Zanalta  busied  himself  with 
various  parchments,  and  finally  selecting  one,  called 
for  red  ink.  His  memory  of  the  main  landmarks 
was  good  enough  to  make  a  rough  draft  of  the 
domain.  At  a  casual  glance  it  might  be  accepted  as 
the  original ;  the  duplicity  would  not  be  discovered 
until  after  he  was  aboard  ship,  and  even  on  his  return, 
how  simple  to  protest  that  the  original  had  been  pur- 


270  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

loined  without  his  knowledge,  that  he  had  acted  in 
good  faith,  and  the  spurious  copy  was  a  mystery  to 
him. 

So  he  worked,  completing  even  the  red  lettering 
on  the  roll,  and  giving  it  much  the  appearance  of  the 
one  missing.  Then  he  called  for  black  Gourfi,  who 
listened  to  some  orders,  departed  with  quickness  as 
he  was  bidden,  and  returned  ere  long,  but  shook  his 
head  when  his  master  glanced  past  him  into  the 
corridor. 

"  She  did  not  come ;  she  was  not  even  to  be  seen," 
he  announced.  And  his  master  flung  the  pen  down, 
with  angry  words. 

"  Give  me  the  reason  —  where  has  she  gone  ?  " 
"  No  farther  than  an  inner  room,  master ;  but  a 
sick  man  is  there  —  a  priest  —  they  name  him  Father 
Luis.  He  came  down  the  river  with  the  red  men. 
He  is  old  —  he  needs  care ;  and  the  Master  Lamort 
bade  Venda  not  to  leave  his  side  this  day  and  this 
night.  So  the  people  in  the  cook-house  told  me, 
and  it  is  true.  That  is  all." 

"And  enough.  It  will  change  my  plans  for 
twenty-four  hours.  But  you,  Gourfi,  with  a  still 
tongue  in  your  head,  prepare  for  me  wearing  ap 
parel  for  a  month.  Have  it  ready  to  go  in  a  small 
boat  any  instant  it  is  needed  ;  and  — be  silent." 


DIEGO   SEES   A   GHOST.  271 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

DIEGO   SEES  A   GHOST. 

MONS.  CONSTANTS  RAYNEL  learned  that  even  the 
path  of  an  accepted  lover  may  have  thorns  amidst 
the  roses  of  happiness.  The  thorns  in  his  case  were, 
first,  Senora  Zanalta,  whose  presence  he  dreaded  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  walked  ever  in  the  shadows 
when  waiting  in  the  gardens  for  his  beloved,  and 
even  planned  a  rendezvous  at  the  house  of  Monsieur 
Lamort,  where  they  might  dare  speak  aloud  once 
more;  and  the  other  thing  vexatious  to  his  spirit 
was  Diego  Zanalta  himself,  who  had  disturbed 
Madame  Villette  so  greatly  with  his  fancies  that  she 
insisted  her  lover  must  haunt  his  steps,  learn  where 
he  wandered  to  when  the  darkness  fell,  and  what 
were  the  associations  to  which  he  must  owe  his 
unquiet  hours  of  the  night,  for  Ninon  never  guessed 
that  the  cause  of  those  unquiet  hours  might  have  been 
dark  memories  of  his  own  past. 

And  because  of  her  wishes  had  her  favorite  knight 
undertaken  a  duty  by  no  means  safe  or  pleasant  — 
that  of  shadowing  a  gentleman  who  was  reputed  to 
use  a  dagger  skillfully.  If  he  could  have  taken 
Maurice  into  his  confidence  the  task  would  have 
troubled  him  less ;  but  his  little  governor-general 
said  "no." 

"  And  I  may  be  given  a  slit  with  a  knife  in  the 
darkness,  and  never  one  would  know  what  became  of 


272  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

me,"  he  lamented ;  for  in  his  own  mind  he  had  an 
idea  that  Senor  Diego  was  simply  a  smuggler,  and 
his  absence  at  night  a  most  simple  affair  to  those  in 
his  confidence. 

But  as  the  dusk  fell  he  was  at  a  station  where  the 
domain  of  Zanalta  could  be  viewed,  and  as  the  last 
bar  of  yellow  light  died  over  the  western  levels  he 
saw  a  sailor  pass,  a  swarthy  half-breed,  with  glinting 
tinsel  showing  here  and  there  in  his  apparel  —  an 
expression  of  semi-barbaric  taste.  He  halted  oppo 
site  the  house  Constante  was  watching,  and  then  as 
Zanalta.  himself  appeared  at  a  window  he  sped  across 
to  him,  with  one  hand  upheld  to  attract  attention. 

Then  there  followed  questions  and  answers,  and 
the  seaman  said,  "  Yes,  the  vessel  will  be  at  your 
control  from  this  evening,  but  our  commander  can 
not  speak  to  you  of  it  unless  it  should  please  you  to 
go  now  to  the  cafe  of  Manette.  Later  he  is  engaged  ; 
to-morrow  he  is  engaged." 

Zanalta  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  Your  master 
will  no  longer  bear  the  title  of  the  '  night-hawk  '  if 
he  receives  company  so  early.  We  may  soon  hope 
to  greet  him  at  noonday  if  this  continues.  But 
return  to  him  with  my  compliments  ;  say  I  will  be 
with  him  ere  long." 

Constante  was  too  far  away  to  hear  their  words, 
only  their  nods  and  gestures  were  visible  ;  and  he 
strolled  deeper  into  the  shadows  as  the  messenger 
repassed  the  spot  where  he  had  stood.  His  steps 
carried  him  so  far  that  he  found  himself  near  a 
lattice  where  a  light  shone,  and  where  the  voice  of 
Senora  Zanalta  made  the  air  heavy  with  ire.  She 


DIEGO   SEES  A   GHOST.  273 

was  venting  her  earnest  wrath  on  some  slave,  and 
calling-  the  saints  to  witness  her  own  patience  under 
the  trials  laid  on  her  by  that  household. 

The  listener  slipped  away  by  a  more  roundabout 
path,  lest  she  should  look  from  the  lattice  and  dis 
cover  his  unforgiven  self.  In  doing  so  more  time 
was  consumed  than  he  had  reckoned  on,  and  when 
he  again  came  in  sight  of  the  house  entrance,  Don 
Diego  was  just  turning  the  opposite  corner  with  all 
possible  speed  ;  the  watcher  took  his  track,  keeping 
as  small  a  space  as  he  dare  between  them,  but  he 
found  the  distance  long  enough,  for  Zanalta  had  a 
most  troublesome  way  of  looking  behind  him  often 
—  of  stopping  and  peering  into  shadowy  paths  if 
any  crossed  his  own  —  all  the  nervous  actions  of 
a  man  who  is  afraid  of  something  near  him  but 
unseen. 

Constante  had  heard  rumors  of  his  skill  with 
hilted  steel  —  of  duels  in  Old  Spain,  and  of  men  who 
had  fallen  victims  to  his  excellence  in  that  fine  art. 
Did  he  carry  the  memory  of  them  with  him  when 
the  night  fell  ?  His  follower  mentally  decided  yes. 

Much  more  certain  was  he  when  close  by  the 
thick  willows  near  the  river  Zanalta  halted,  with  a 
cry  that  was  neither  scream  nor  moan,  but  a 
mingling  of  each,  a  strangling,  strained  note  of 
horror  sounding  through  the  darkness.  It  was 
scarcely  a  cry  for  help,  yet  Constante,  who  could 
move  lightly  and  in  silence  because  of  the  skin 
shoes  he  wore,  sped  over  the  path  to  his  side ; 
or  rather  behind  him,  where  he  too  paused  abruptly, 
for  close  in  front  of  them  a  man  stood  in  the 

18 


274  A  FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

shadows  —  a  man  with  a  strange,  pale  face  and 
stern  eyes  ;  his  mouth  was  hidden  by  a  mustache  and 
the  fur  cap  of  a  voyageur  covered  his  head.  His 
dress  was  also  that  of  the  ranger  —  the  fringed 
leggings  and  hunting-coat,  the  knotted  scarf  of 
scarlet  at  the  throat.  Constante  noted  it  all  with 
the  trained  eye  of  an  artist.  Strangest  of  all, 
the  loose  gown  of  a  priest  was  thrown  over  the 
shoulders  of  the  figure,  while  the  eyes  were  bent 
significantly  on  the  face  of  Zanalta,  and  one  hand 
was  held  aloft,  pointing  heavenward,  as  if  in  judg 
ment. 

And  to  this  figure  Diego  Zanalta  was  muttering  in 
supplicating  tones. 

"  Again  !  Oh,  cross  of  the  Christ !  Can  you  not 
rest  ?  It  is  done  —  it  is  all  over  — -  masses  can  be  — 
that  is  all.  I  did  not  do  it  —  I  never  touched  your 
knife  —  you  know.  If  you  would  speak.  O  God! 
anything  would  be  better  than  this  silence,  and  your 
face  everywhere  !  Speak,  though  it  kill  me  !  You 
poison  life  with  your  cursed  eyes.  Speak,  De 
Bayarde,  or  I  - 

He  leaped  forward,  convulsed  by  a  sort  of  furious 
fear,  and  as  the  figure  seemed  to  recede  before  him, 
he  fell  in  a  fainting-fit  where  it  had  stood. 

The  fall  broke  the  spell  of  utter  wonder  which 
had  bound  Raynel,  and  he  bent  over  the  man  to  see 
if  he  had  indeed  died  in  that  terror.  When  he 
raised  his  eyes  again  toward  that  silent  accuser 
nothing  was  there  but  the  dusky  shadows  and  the 
faint  lights  yet  lingering  on  the  willow-stems. 

It  was  all  so  strange  to  him.    His  head  was  in  a 


DIEGO   SEES  A  GHOST.  275' 

whirl ;  his  hair  seemed  to  lift  his  hat  when  the  form 
was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  And  then  the  thought 
that  he  was  there  in  the  willows  with  a  dead  man ! 

But  Zanalta  was  not  dead  ;  he  soon  breathed,  and 
even  spoke,  begging  to  be  taken  home,  out  of  the 
shadows. 

"  And  it  is  you  ?  "  he  said,  finally.  "  How  —  but  you 
will  tell  me  later.  Well,  it  is  you.  I  am  ill.  I  will 
go  to-morrow  —  not  later  — you  tell  Rochelle  ;  but 
you  do  not  know  him.  My  head  swims;  I  can't 
think  ;  but  I'll  go  to-morrow." 

And  that  night,  despite  the  orders  of  Madame 
Ninon,  Constante  betook  himself  to  Maurice,  and 
recounted  the  wonderful  events  of  the  evening  with 
more  exactness  than  he  had  ventured  to  tell  his 
betrothed,  fearing  she  should  think  he  also  needed 
a  guardian  if  he  was  beginning  to  see  forms  in  each 
shadowy  place. 

And  Maurice,  with  his  mind  yet  filled  with  that  late- 
learned  history  of  De  Bayarde  sat  long  after  the 
departure  of  Constante  trying  to  fathom  the  mystery 
of  this  strange  appearance.  He  understood  more 
clearly  now  the  words  of  Zanalta  that  first  evening 
at  Monsieur  Lamort's  —  his  earnest  desire  to  hear 
what  the  others  thought  of  spirit  returns.  Had  this 
wraith  of  the  past  been  haunting  his  steps  so  long  ? 
Was  it  a  wraith,  or  a  reality  ?  and  if  the  latter,  who 
was  trading  on  a  resemblance  to  that  exiled  man  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  fright  to  Zanalta?  Was 
Rochelle  interested,  that  Zanalta  had  spoken  of  him 
at  once  on  regaining  consciousness  — Rochelle,  the 
peculiar  man  who  was  never  seen  on  Orleans  Island 


276  A  FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

when  the  sun  shone,  but  whose  night  visits  had  led 
people  to  attribute  evil  character  to  the  mystery 
about  him  ? 

Maurice  Delogne  had,  however,  been  able  to 
discover  no  single  evil  thing  against  him  in  the 
official  annals  of  the  island,  or  on  the  books  of  the 
regidors.  No  complaints,  no  charges  of  smuggling 
or  other  tamperings  with  law.  After  that  even 
ing  when  Don  Zanalta  had  disclaimed  knowledge  of 
the  Sea  Gull's  commander  Maurice  had,  out  of  his 
instinctive  dislike  of  the  man,  distrusted  him.  He 
had  learned  that  the  sailors  of  Monsieur  Rochelle 
were  all  credited  with  being  half-breeds ;  no  man 
entirely  white  had  ever  been  seen  with  him  as  com 
panion.  Generally  he  was  alone,  and  his  wagers 
and  winnings  at  the  card-table  were  things  noto 
rious  among  the  limited  circle  with  whom  he 
played  ;  and  Delogne  had  learned  that  Zanalta  was 
one  of  the  aristocratic  few.  Never  a  plebeian  in 
Rochelle's  game,  only  with  the  best  blood  of  Or 
leans  would  he  take  part  in  play,  and  the  best 
blood  was  invariably  worsted  by  the  gamester  whom 
they  in  return  called  a  smuggler  and  buccaneer. 
But  Delogne  himself  decided  that  he  was  simply  a 
clever  adventurer,  who  assumed  a  mysterious  man 
ner  of  life  the  better  to  awe  the  credulous  and 
impose  on  them  with  his  tricky  games. 

And  in  spite  of  himself  he  could  not  but  connect 
the  night-hawk  —  the  man  of  whom  the  people  loved 
to  romance  —  with  the  apparition  seen  there  on  the 
river-walk ;  some  wager  of  the  gamester,  perhaps. 
But  the  motive  and  the  manner  of  the  phantom  was 


VENDA.  277 

not  to  be  fathomed  by  any  of  his  conjectures,  though 
all  his  mind  was  alert  because  of  those  late  confi 
dences  of  Monsieur  Lamort,  whom  he  wished  with  all 
his  heart  he  could  acquaint  with  the  story  ere  he  slept 
—  an  impossibility,  however,  as  Monsieur  Lamort 
once  retired  to  his  own  rooms  for  the  day  or  night 
never  allowed  himself  to  be  intruded  upon. 

But  one  member  of  the  household  heard  the  story 
as  Monsieur  Raynel  told  it,  one  who  knelt  outside 
the  door  and  listened  with  pleased  eyes  and  nodding 
head.  When  the  horror  and  fright  of  Don  Zanalta 
was  described  she  hugged  herself  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  as  if  in  silent  laughter,  but  not  a  sound  did  she 
utter ;  and  the  ailing  priest  whom  she  tended  scarcely 
missed  her  brown  face  and  gentle  hand  about  him, 
her  departure  and  return  were  so  swift  and  silent. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

VENDA. 

BUT  in  the  waning  sun  of  the  next  day  it  was  no 
laughing  Venda  who  faced  her  former  master  and 
listened  to  his  commands  with  frowning  brows. 

"  So  !  this  why  Gourfi  come  there  and  say,  '  Master 
lost  something  ;  he  want  Venda  the  voudou  to  find  it 
for  him,  quick.'  I  see  now  Gourfi  lie.  It  is  not  a  loss 
you  have  met.  And  why  should  I  tell  lie  too,  eh  ? 
No  good  to  do  it.  Venda  never  had  child  ;  all  old 


278  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

ncgrcssc  know  that.      No,  Venda  not  want  Cabildo 
men  to  put  irons  on  her  for  that." 

Zanalta  stared  at  her  gloomily.  His  own  dislike 
to  a  conversation  with  her  was  made  more  difficult 
by  her  stupid  objections. 

"  You  are  not  to  decide.  Your  master  is  to  judge  ; 
and  no  matter  whose  gold  pays  for  you,  Diego 
Zanalta  is  ever  your  master  —  do  you  hear?  The 
judges  will  never  hear  that  you  had  no  child  born.  I, 
Zanalta,  say  you  had.  You  also  say  so,  else  the 
judges  will  of  a  certainty  hear  strange  things  of  you 
-things  worse  than  the  irons  that  frighten  you. 
Well  do  you  know  what  I  mean." 

And  her  eyes  showed  that  she  did  know.  One  dark 
glance  of  beseeching  and  of  hatred  was  turned  on 
him,  but  she  said  no  word.  He  smiled  a  little  at  the 
satisfaction  of  his  power  over  her. 

"  As  for  the  child,"  he  continued,  "  it  is  a  child  no 
longer.  It  is  of  mixed  blood,  but  looks  white,  and  is 
wrongfully  received  among  ladies  who  are  white. 
It  is  only  right  that  it  should  be  changed.  Once, 
years  ago,  you  were  with  your  mistress,  Felice,  the 
winter  she  died  at  the  plantation  Solle.  A  child 
could  have  been  born  there,  and  no  one  lives  who 
could  contradict  it." 

"  Yes,"  and  she  looked  at  him  with  wide  frightened 
eyes  —  «  yes,  a  child  might  have  been  born  there  ;  no 
one  would  know."  And  then  she  looked  relieved  at 
some  new  thought.  "  But,  master,  I,  Venda,  could 
not  have  a  white  child  —  it  could  not  be;  not  I,  a 
dark  woman." 

"  Such  things  have  been  —  will  be  often,  when  the 
father  is  white." 


VENDA.  279 

"  White  father —  oh  !  "  And  she  gazed  at  him  with 
questioning  eyes,  waiting  for  more  she  saw  he  was 
about  to  tell  her.  From  his  desk  he  took  a  long 
piece  of  paper  and  unfolded  it. 

"You  promise?  "he  demanded.  She  hesitated. 
The  paper  looked  so  like  one  she  had  heard  read  by 
the  Cabildo  man  years  ago  when  the  brand  of  hot 
iron  had  fallen  on  her.  The  thought  of  that  time 
made  her  tremble  in  her  heart.  Ah,  those  judges  ! 

"  You  promise,  or  I,  Diego  Zanalta,  will  say  to  the 
rulers  things  that  will  send  you  to  death  ere  two 
suns  pass.  Speak  !  Will  you  claim  the  girl  as  I  tell 
you?  " 

u  Yes,  Venda  will  do  it,"  she  assented,  lowly. 
"  Tell  her  what  she  is  to  do.  Where  is  the  child?" 

He  smiled  that  he  had  vanquished  her  so  easily, 
and  knew  well  she  would  never  willingly  serve  him ; 
but  after  that  punishment  long  ago  her  fear  of  the 
law  was  great. 

He  opened  the  paper,  reading  extracts  from  it 
that  she  might  grasp  the  meaning. 

M  I,  Diego  Zanalta,  affirm,  etc.,  and  hold  that  the 
slave-woman  Venda,  now  the  property  of  Victor 
Lamort,  purchased  by  me  from  the  estate  of  Gaston 
le  Noycns,  was,  while  my  property,  delivered  of  a 
child  on  the  plantation  of  Madame  Marie  Solle, 
which  child,  being  of  white  skin,  she  concealed  from 
her  owner,  and  did  wrongfully  and  in  secret  convey 
to  the  foundling  basket  of  the  Ursuline  convent  on 
the  night  of  Christmas,  177-,  hoping  it  would  be 
reared  apart  from  the  people  of  color,  where  it  be 
longed.  At  last  her  guilt  has  been  discovered,  and 


280  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Don  Zanalta,  because  of  her  full  and  penitent  con- 
fession,  desires  that  no  punishment  be  visited  upon 
her,  and  only  asks  the  return  of  the  girl,  who  is  his 
legal  property,  as  her  mother  was  owned  by  him  at 
the  time  of  the  birth.  More,  that  he  begs,  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  nuns  and  their  worthy  work,  that 
the  mulatto  girl  be  given  up  by  them  without  pro 
test,  and  thus  avert  the  scandal  that  would  ensue  if 
it  goes  abroad  that  the  daughters  of  the  planters 
and  ladies  of  noble  blood  have  been  trained  side 
by  side  with  a  slave,  and  that  she  has  been  treated 
in  all  ways  as  their  peer. 

"  The  woman  Venda  further  confesses  that  the  girl 
is  the  daughter  of  her  late  master,  Gaston  le  Noyens, 
and  Don  Zanalta  is  desirous  of  giving  the  girl  due 
consideration  because  of  that  fact,  and  because  of 
her  superior  refinements,  but  most  earnestly  de 
mands  the  righting  of  this  wrong,  that  he  may 
remove  this  present  cause  of  insult  to  every  lady 
who  is  a  pupil  of  the  convent.  The  girl  has  been 
given  the  name  of  Denise  by  the  nuns,  and  by  that 
name  I  do  request  her.  Beseeching  the  gracious 
clemency,  etc. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  putting  aside  the  paper, 
"you  have  nothing  to  do  when  the  Alcalde  reads 
this  paper  but  to  say  it  is  all  true  and  that  you  were 
the  black  woman  who  was  seen  bearing  a  child  to 
the  convent  gate.  You  comprehend  ?  Say  just  that 
and  no  more." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  face  that  shone  ashen  in 
the  bright  light,  and  her  lips  seemed  stiff  when  she 
tried  to  speak. 


VENDA.  281 

"Oh,  you  need  not  stare  like  that  because  Le 
Noyens'  name  is  mentioned,"  and  he  spoke  impa 
tiently  ;  "  that  is  the  only  safe  way,  and  is  reason 
able  enough.  Remember  if  they  ask  you,  you  must 
say  the  child  was  born  at  the  plantation  of  Madame 
Solle  when  you  were  allowed  by  my  permission  to 
wait  on  Mademoiselle  Felice  during  her  last  illness, 
and  that  you  yourself  carried  the  child  into  the 
town  and  left  it  at  the  convent  gate  on  that  Christ 
mas  night." 

"  On  —  the  —  Christmas  —  night,"  she  repeated,  as 
if  trying  to  beat  the  meaning  of  it  in  on  her  own 
mind.       "But,     master  —  oh,     the     good     God!- 
master  — 

"  Enough  of  that !  "  he  commanded  ;  "  no  protests, 
and  no  begging  off.  You  have  promised,  and  you 
must  do  it,  just  as  I  have  told  you.  Must !  —  do 
you  hear? " 

"But  —  oh,  listen!  Yes,  I  promise  —  oh,  God! 
Venda  do  all  you  want  if  you  only  tell  her  clear 
about  that  child.  It  ^died  —  that  child  at  the  con 
vent  basket —  it  died.  I  know  —  I  heard." 

"  No  doubt;  you  hear  everything,  and  I  am  glad 
you  remember  the  time.  Yes,  a  child  died  there, 
but  it  was  the  other  child  died.  Two  were  left  there 
that  night  —  one  with  a  white  skin  and  one  that 
looked  like  an  Indian,  or  colored  child.  The  dark 
one  was  dead  in  the  morning,  but  the  white  one  is 
the  girl  Denise." 

"They  said  it  died  —  they  said  it  died,"  she 
repeated,  with  her  hands  at  her  own  throat,  as  one 
looks  when  strangling. 


A  FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  her  wild,  despairing 
face  told  him  nothing  but  her  own  personal  fear  of 
the  judges  and  the  risk  of  the  lie  she  was  to  tell. 

"  But  I  tell  you  it  did  not  —  it  is  alive,  and  is  the 
child  of  Venda,  once  called  Zizi,  and  of  Gaston  le 
Noyens,  her  master.  That  is  all  you  are  to  remem 
ber  ;  and  it  is  to  be  settled  at  the  house  of  your  new 
master,  Monsieur  Lamort." 

"At  his  house!"  she  muttered;  "his  house!" 
She  was  turning  to  walk  away  when  Zanalta  stepped 
in  front  of  her. 

"Mind,  no  trickery  in  this, "  he  said,  and  warned 
her  with  an  upraised  finger.  "  You  had  better  be 
dead  than  prove  false  in  this—  you  know." 

"  I  know,"  she  assented,  and  her  head  drooped. 
"  I  have  promised.  I  will  be  there  ;  I  will  say  I  left 
the  white  child  with  the  nuns.  Speak  when  the 
time  comes." 

And  her  voice  sounded  dead  and  heavy;  her  step 
was  as  the  step  of  a  very  old  woman  as  she  passed 
out  through  the  halls  where  her  home  had  once 
been.  In  the  garden  of  roses  she  stopped  and 
touched  a  drooping  branch  of  white  fragrance. 
"Venda  love  to  touch  you,  little  white  rose,"  she 
muttered,  as  though  speaking  to  a  living  thing. 
"  Venda  like  just  so  the  white  Denise  all  these  times 
and  never  did  know  why.  Now  maybe  she  never 
see  either  one  of  you  again.  Good-by,  little  white 
rose." 

She  walked  straight  to  the  gates  of  the  convent. 
Once  there  she  knew  not  what  she  had  come  to  say. 
She  felt  dulled  and  stupid,  and  sat  for  a  little  on 


VENDA.  283 

the  crisp  dry  grass  without  the  gate ;  sat  there 
while  people  passed  and  crossed  themselves  at  sight 
of  the  black  witch  woman  who  sat  as  if  weaving 
spells  at  the  very  gate  of  the  sacred  retreat.  But 
she  was  blind  for  once  to  their  shrinking  and  awe  of 
her.  All  her  thought  was,  "  Will  they  listen  —  will 
the  voudou  be  believed  when  she  tells  at  last  the 
truth?" 

Then  she  arose  and  walked  straight  to  the  guarded 
gate,  where  she  made  request  for  the  grand  mother 
superior,  who  seemed  quite  a  royal  person  in  the 
colony.  But  no  audience  was  possible  so  late  in  the 
day,  so  the  chatelaine  of  the  gate  replied ;  and,  any 
way,  no  slave  would  be  admitted  without  announcing 
for  what  her  master  or  mistress  had  sent  her. 

And  Venda  was  barred  out  by  that,  for  she  had 
no  message  from  a  master ;  but  she  looked  plead 
ingly  in  the  gentle  face  of  the  aged  nun,  and  bowed 
her  head  with  that  barbaric  obeisance  of  respect. 

"  Might  the  slave  who  has  no  master's  orders  ask 
one  question  when  it  is  for  good  and  not  evil?  " 

"  Surely,"  assented  the  kindly  soul,  much  im 
pressed  by  the  strange  brown  woman  whose  hair 
was  so  white  above  her  youthful  face. 

"  The  things  that  are  spoken  within  these  gates 
are  never  whispered  to  the  people  there?"  and 
Venda  pointed  to  the  town. 

"  We  keep  many  secrets,"  confessed  the  nun  ;  and 
Venda's  face  brightened  as  she  saw  she  was  under 
stood. 

"  So !  it  is  good.  This  is  secret.  Listen !  One 
Christmas  a  child,  Denise,  was  left  here  —  is  it  so  ? 


284  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

Yes  ?  If  you  have  love  for  her  ask  the  ruler  of  this 
house  to  have  ready  any  clothes  or  writings  that 
came  with  her  into  the  foundling  basket  —  any  of 
the  smallest  things  even  that  would  help  to  show 
what  people  she  came  of.  Do  not  look  so !  I  am 
not  touched  with  the  head  sickness  —  I  tell  you 
earnest  truth.  Soon,  I  know  not  what  day,  a  grand 
senor  will  come  here  and  call  her  his.  Bid  them 
have  each  thing  ready,  that  no  wrong  may  be  done. 
The  slave-woman  may  tell  you  no  more  than  that ; 
but  your  convent  child  may  fall  in  danger  if  you 
pay  no  heed  to  the  word  I  bring.  I  come  for  good, 
not  for  evil.  Good-by." 

On  the  way  to  her  master's  house  she  met  many 
Indians  of  the  Natchez.  They  chattered  more  than 
usual.  They  talked  in  groups,  and  seemed  glad ; 
sometimes  they  shook  hands  as  the  white  men  do, 
and  their  eyes  smiled  even  when  their  tongues  were 
silent.  And  one  man  who  was  past  middle  age  was 
embraced  by  a  group  in  which  was  one  very  old 
Indian  woman.  He  was  her  son,  and  had  been  held 
in  slavery  thirty  years.  Others  of  the  group  were 
his  brothers,  who  had  come  with  her  to  greet  him 
when  his  freedom  came. 

Absolute  freedom  was  not  yet  given,  but  the  gov 
ernor  had  been  pleased  to  grant  many  concessions, 
for  in  the  face  of  the  law  when  it  was  held  up 
before  him  he  could  do  no  less ;  and  the  half-freed 
slaves  were  joyous  that  even  the  thin  edge  of  the 
wedge  had  been  forced  through  the  wall  of  the 
white  man's  wishes. 

And  Venda  reading  their  faces  saw  they  were 


VENDA.  285 

glad  of  heart  —  they  were  almost  free;  and  she 
held  her  hands  tight  over  her  bosom  —  she,  who 
would  only  know  freedom  through  the  gate  of  death. 
Like  all  of  her  race,  she  feared  the  dark  oblivion  of 
the  grave.  Yet  one  dies  so  many  times  while  one 
breathes  and  walks  the  earth ;  would  the  final  death 
be  harder  than  the  things  she  had  lived  through  ? 
It  seemed  to  her  not,  as  she  sought  the  master 
whom  she  reverenced  —  sought  him  that  she  might 
confess  a  long-lived  evil  she  had  lived  through ; 
and  when  she  had  told  him  all,  she  knew  he  would 
hate  her  —  he  would  banish  her  forever  from  his 
sight. 

Well,  it  was  only  one  more  death ! 

But  seek  where  she  would,  he  was  not  to  be  found. 
The  sun  was  sinking,  and  she  grew  feverish  over 
her  anxiety  lest  time  enough  would  not  be  granted 
her.  She  went  away  from  his  house  and  from 
the  Cabildo,  and  walked  along  the  river-side,  watch 
ing  ever  the  forms  and  faces  about.  She  was  rest 
less  as  the  ever-moving  waves  on  the  shore. 

Then  she  caught  sight  of  a  shapely  boat  fastened 
to  the  beach,  while  the  only  occupant  lounged  there 
lazily  and  smoked  a  cigarette.  She  knew  the  craft, 
as  she  knew  most  faces  that  came  to  the  town.  She 
went  down  close  to  the  man  before  she  spoke. 

"  Do  you  wait  here  for  your  master?  "  she  asked  ; 
and  the  sailor,  Nicholas,  looked  up  at  her  and 
scowled  sulkily. 

"  No  such  luck.  I  wait  here  for  one  of  the  noble 
gallants  such  as  you  love  to  serve  in  the  town 
here.  You  are  the  witch,  they  say ;  so  you  should 


286  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

know  both  the  lord  and  the  lady  for  whose  pleasure- 
trip  this  eraft  waits  from  sundown  until  dawn  of 
three  nights." 

"  Three  nights  ?  and  this  is  the  last  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  is  the  last." 

"  And  they  elope?" 

"  Who  knows?  Who  she  is  has  not  been  told  ;  but 
the  boat  waits." 

She  looked  out  over  the  water.  The  setting  sun 
was  just  tinging  it  into  lances  of  flame  where  the 
ripples  moved.  She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief ; 
she  feared  the  truth,  but  was  glad  at  the  thought 
that  another  day's  time  might  be  given,  would 
likely  be  given,  for  it  was  growing  late.  He  could 
not  have  meant  to-night. 

'Tell  me  — can  I  see  your  master?  "she  asked,* 
suddenly ;  but  he  only  sneered  at  her. 

"  Perhaps,  if  you  know  where  to  look  for  him  ;  I  do 
not." 

"  I  think  you  lie,"  she  said,  carelessly;  "but  you 
mean  to  keep  faith,  and  that  is  good.  Will  you  tell 
me,  then,  if  in  the  many  people  who  pass  you  have 
seen  the  face  of  Master  Victor  Lamort? " 

"I  think  not, "he  growled,  and  looked  at  her  sus 
piciously;  "but  you  need  not  ask  me  about  your 
grand  senors  of  the  town  there.  I  care  little  to 
remember  their  faces  or  names." 

"  You  are  an  ill  beast  for  a  woman  to  waste  words 
with,"  she  remarked,  and  turned  away.  Then,  not 
ing  the  clear,  warm  sky  and  placid  waters,  added, 
"  Well,  if  Senor  Zanalta  makes  choice  of  to-night  for 
his  flitting  he  is  like  to  have  fine  weather,  eh?" 


VENDA,  287 

The  straight,  contemptuous  mouth  of  Nicholas 
curved  ever  so  little  at  her  clever  guess. 

"  So  you  do  know?  They  tell  me  you  are  a  vou- 
dou  witch  and  know  most  things.  Now  down  in 
San  Domingo  I  knew  a  voudou  woman  ;  she  — 

But  Venda  walked  away,  as  if  careless  of  his 
words.  She  had  learned  more  than  she  came  for, 
and  with  her  added  fund  of  knowledge  sought  again 
her  master. 

And  Nicholas  watched  her  go,  and  muttered  sul 
lenly  to  himself : 

"  Master  Captain  told  me  once  to  do  good  turn 
for  that  white-head  nigger  if  she  ever  came  my  way. 
Um  !  Master  is  queer  in  the  head  with  his  kind 
ness.  What  she  want  with  captain  —  her  ?  I  always 
did  hate  niggers." 

And  he  smoothed  his  hair  where  the  black  blood 
showed  in  the  ebon  curls,  and  stared  with  somber 
envy  at  the  men  of  the  Natchez  moving  along  the 
banquette  in  their  gay  woven  blankets,  and  that 
proud,  unconquered  look  in  their  eyes  —  they,  the 
red  men,  could  walk  out  from  their  shackles  and  be 
hailed  by  their  kindred  as  warriors  once  more,  but . 
the  African  !  And  Nicholas  muttered  curses  on  the 
curse  set  in  the  blood  of  the  black  people  —  a  curse 
so  heavy  that  it  was  ground  into  their  hearts  and 
brains ;  and  their  courage  and  hope  dwindled  under 
the  weight  of  it  until  they  did  never  dare  in  the  pres 
ence  of  white  men  to  bear  themselves  dauntless  as 
those  red  men  whom  he  envied. 

And  so  he  lay  there  and  sulked,  thinking  of  the 
black  blood  in  his  own  veins  —  the  blood  he  hated  . 


288  A   FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

and  not  realizing  that  the  greatest  general  the 
world  had  seen  for  a  century  past,  or  would  see  in 
the  next  century  to  come,  was  a  black  man,  even 
then  growing  into  power  on  that  same  island  of  San 
Domingo  —  the  man  who  freed  his  brother  slaves 
despite  the  allied  forces  of  England  and  Spain,  whose 
strongholds  and  ships  he  destroyed,  and  drove  them 
from  the  Southern  waters  despite  the  trained  en 
deavors  of  France,  who  sent  an  army  against  him  ; 
and  fifty  thousand  French  graves  are  left  on  that 
island  as  testimony  to  his  prowess.  The  man  whose 
name  and  deeds  would  be  sung  as  the  world  sings  of 
heroes,  had  not  the  most  powerful  nations  of  that 
time  been  smarting  under  the  hurts  he  had  given 
them.  Their  poets  had  no  songs  of  praise  for  the 
"  accursed  black  "  who  left  but  fragments  of  their 
defeated  armies. 

But  Nicholas  swaying  idly  there  in  his  boat  knew 
nothing  of  that  great  heart  of  slave-born  Toussaint 
L'Ouverture,  the  heart  aching  even  then  over  the 
woes  of  the  dark  people ;  and  looking  across  at  the 
Natchez,  who  called  him  the  "  curled  head,"  Nicholas 
wished  himself  all  of  Natchez  blood,  because  he 
fancied  in  his  ignorance  that  the  black  blood  came 
from  the  heart  of  cowards. 


A   RENDEZVOUS.  289 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

A   RENDEZVOUS. 

ALL  that  day  Maurice  Delogne  had  been  restless 
as  the  very  spirit  of  the  wind.  The  prospect  held 
out  to  him  by  Monsieur  Lamort,  the  recovery  of  the 
estate  he  had  hoped  so  little  for,  opened  up  a  new 
vista  —  and  then,  perhaps,  he  would  dare  kneel  for 
the  favors  of  the  Lady  Denise. 

The  Lady  Denise !  It  was  the  title  dearest  of  all 
dear  things  to  him,  and  he  was  even  foolishly  glad 
that  she  had  no  added  name.  She  was  not  as  other 
maidens;  she  was  a  fair  white  mystery,  a  strong, 
gentle  spirit,  such  as  old  legends  tell  of.  All  the 
soft  warm  winds  of  the  south  brought  him  whispers 
of  Denise  —  Denise ;  every  rustle  of  the  leaves, 
every  ripple  along  the  edge  of  the  water  where  it 
made  music  kissing  the  shore  ;  and  the  silent  in 
fluence  of  her  seldom-seen  face,  her  name,  her 
voice  wrought  wondrous  changes  in  the  young 
man's  mind.  The  Lady  Denise  —  it  was  a  name  to 
conjure  with,  and  under  the  witchery  of  it  Maurice 
grew  more  tolerant  of  even  the  love  affairs  of  Con- 
stante,  and  listened  with  more  sympathy  to  his 
course  of  latest  true  love  and  the  disturbing  influence 
of  Senora  Zanalta. 

And  ere  the  dusk  fell  he  was  amused  to  see  the 
approach  of  Madame  Ninon  Villette  from  one  direc 
tion  and  the  ardent  Constante  from  another,  each 

19 


290  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

bending  uncertain  steps  toward  the  dwelling  of 
Monsieur  Lamort  —  a  rendezvous  without  a  doubt, 
and  a  pretty  sure  sign  that  the  irate  lady  from 
Madrid  was  yet  formidable. 

"  Their  infatuation  is  most  surely  blinding  them 
to  the  conventional  in  conduct,"  he  thought  as  he 
observed  them.  "  They  defy  comment  and  slip  here 
like  two  guilty  people  to  confer  in  secret  —  here 
where  no  lady's  presence  gives  countenance  to  their 
meeting.  Ah,  well,  I  too  would  lack  wisdom  after 
the  same  fashion  if  the  lady  of  my  love  would  give 
me  smiles  as  are  lavished  on  Constante.  Yet  —  yet 
her  eyes  surely  fell  kindly  on  me,  though  her  words 
were  chill  and  chiding.  Oh  !  that  I  dared  hope  she 
was  chiding  her  own  heart  when  she  spoke  to  me." 

He  entered  with  eager  interest  into  the  gossip  of 
the  lovers  over  the  strange  state  of  mind  into  which 
Diego  Zanalta  had  fallen  of  late,  and  calmed  some 
what  the  fears  of  Madame  Villette  on  the  question. 
The  times  were  troublous  ones  in  state  affairs  — 
revolt  among  the  French  people  and  among  the 
slaves  of  the  Spanish  islands.  Many  a  master  of 
of  plantations  was  nervous  and  watchful  these  days, 
and  slept  none  too  soundly  of  nights.  So  he 
assured  her,  and  she  was  rather  glad  to  be  con 
vinced  that  his  unrest  had  a  substantial  cause 
instead  of  an  imaginary  one ;  it  seemed  less  un 
canny. 

Monsieur  Lamort  was  not  visible,  but  Delogne 
explained  that  much  of  his  time  had  been  spent  with 
the  aged  priest  brought  by  the  red  men  from  the  far 
north  lakes,  and  now  a  guest  in  the  house,  and  one 


A   RENDEZVOUS.  291 

requiring  many  attentions  because  of  fatigue  and 
the  infirmities  of  age. 

Madame  Villette  would  willingly  have  added  her 
share  to  the  attentions  paid  the  long-exiled  holy 
man,  but  that  he  was  not  yet  thought  strong  enough  ; 
and  the  fetters  of  Constante  were  riveted  even  more 
tightly  by  the  tender  interest  she  evinced  in  the 
unknown  one. 

"  He  shall  be  at  our  house  if  he  will  so  far  honor 
us,"  she  declared.  "  It  is  a  blessed  privilege  to 
entertain  warriors  so  dauntless  as  those  who  travel 
with  but  a  staff  and  the  love  of  heaven  wherewith  to 
conquer  the  souls  of  the  savage  men.  He  shall  be 
of  our  household  at  his  own  pleasure." 

Delogne  had  withdrawn  for  a  short  space,  and  her 
words  were  to  Constante,  for  whom  her  smile  was 
sweetly  inquiring,  as  of  one  who  would  mutely  ask 
commendation.  It  is  so  sweet  in  the  earlier  stages 
of  love's  fever  to  defer  thus  to  the  ideas  of  one 
other. 

"To  be  sure,"  assented  Raynel,  airily.  "The 
sooner  the  better,  madame.  Perhaps  with  a  priest 
ever  at  your  elbow  you  would  be  sooner  impelled  to 
change  vows  with  me  at  his  bidding." 

"  To  plight  my  troth  to  you,  as  the  English  say." 

"More,  oh  star  of  love  in  my  night-time!  To 
vow  yourself  my  bride." 

"  How  impetuous.  Surely,  the  troth  comes  first. 
Have  you  then  considered  in  seriousness  our  idle 
chat  by  the  lattice?" 

"Madame,  you  are  pleased  to  jest  this  evening, 
and  your  own  eyes  deny  the  tone  of  your  speech.  I 


292  A   FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

pray  you,  give  over  making  light  of  emotions  so 
earnest.  Wit  is  brilliant,  but  cruel ;  it  kills  feel 
ing." 

'"•  Oh,  monsieur,  how  fortunate  your  own  is  insured 
so  long  a  life !  " 

11  Do  you  want  me  to  destroy  myself?"  he  de 
manded,  with  a  ferocious  expression,  and  tramped 
back  and  forward  past  her  in  the  most  successful 
melodramatic  fashion,  while  Madame  Ninon,  not  ill 
pleased,  watched  him  from  the  corners  of  her  charm 
ing  eyes. 

"Of  a  truth,  monsieur,  I  wish  no  harm  to  you ; 
yet  I  have  indeed  envied  those  beauties  whom  men 
loved  well  enough  to  die  for."  And  madame  glanced 
up  to  mark  the  effect  of  her  words,  for  he  had  halted 
directly  before  her.  u  But  for  myself  —  oh,  no;  I 
never  hope  to  be  loved  so  well." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  entreat  you  to  believe  that  it  is  so," 
he  declared.  "  Love  like  that  awaits  your  pleasure. 
But  why  should  I  die  unless  cause  comes  ?  Then, 
if  it  were  to  serve  you,  I  would  live  no  more." 

"  You  say  so,"  hesitated  the  coquette.  "  But  after 
all  you  are  a  gay  cavalier — oh,  I  have  heard  so, 
monsieur.  You  dare  not  say  I  am  the  first  of  your 
loves  ;  and  what  assurance  have  I  that  I  am  to  be 
your  best  ?  " 

Constante's  face  actually  paled  at  her  words. 
Angels  of  heaven !  what  stories  had  come  to 
her  ?  With  all  his  heart  he  wished  he  could  present 
a  record  like  that  of  a  stolid  vegetable  gardener 
of  the  German  coast  up  the  river.  But,  alas !  the 
fancies  of  days  long  forgotten  came  trooping  into 


A   RENDEZVOUS.  293 

his  memory  like  jovial  ghosts,  every  one  of  them 
laughing  at  him. 

"  In  fact,"  continued  his  tormentor,  "  remarks  have 
not  been  lacking  in  our  household  to  the  effect  that 
you  would  not  have  wooed  so  eagerly  the  poor 
Ninon  Villette  had  the  poor  Ninon  not  owned  a 
gilded  name  —  nay,  monsieur,  look  not  so  angry ;  I 
only  make  this  mention  that  you  may  understand 
how  I  have  been  assailed,  and  how  I  have  been 
brought  to  consider  your  haste.  I  protest  I  find 
you  a  most  gentle  cavalier,  but  to  speak  of  troth  so 
hastily  —  well,  even  yet  I  fancy  you  do  not  under 
stand  what  it  will  mean  to  wed  on  these  shores  a 
lady  who  is  poor.  You  have  not  seen  the  poor  but 
gently  born  people  who  live  here,  many  of  them  in 
the  most  humble  way ;  and  until  you  understand 
that  my  husband's  will  was  peculiar,  and  that  even 
the  portion  of  his  wealth  that  is  mine  during  widow 
hood  will  be  — 

But  Constante  checked  her  revelations  with  the 
impetuosity  of  a  lover,  and  again  his  arms  were 
about  her  as  he  knelt  at  her  feet. 

"  Give  over,  I  pray  you,  all  this  wise  chatter  of 
gold  and  its  weight,"  he  protested  ;  "  all  words  from 
your  lips  sound  sweetly  to  me,  but  why  waste  our 
chance  happy  moments  with  such  conjectures?  In 
every  land  an  able  man  can  win  a  home  for  the 
woman  he  loves,  and  with  your  love  as  a  goal  —  ah, 
heavens !  —  I  feel  I  could  conquer  half  this  wilder 
ness.  You  shake  your  head  —  you  yet  think  of  the 
gold  of  which  I  think  no  more?  Believe  me,  if  by 
ending  your  widowhood  you  lose  your  fortune,  I 


294  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

vow  to  make  a  cottage  love  so  joyous  to  you  that 
you  will  never  regret  the  mansion  you  leave 
behind." 

Now  Madame  Ninon  adored  such  love-making. 
It  was  much  more  to  her  liking  than  the  more  cere 
monious  proposals  addressed  to  her  by  various  dig 
nified  and  important  gentlemen  of  the  colony.  But 
content  as  she  was  with  her  wooer,  she  was  not  wise 
enough  to  let  well  alone,  but  said,  with  archness  and 
provoking  glances  at  his  rapturous  face  : 

"  You  speak  of  the  gold  for  which  you  think  no 
more ;  do  you  acknowledge,  then,  that  you  did  once 
care  for  it? " 

And  Constante,  in  the  idiocy  of  love,  and  with  the 
conviction  that  he  must  not  aspire  to  the  sanctity  of 
her  heart  with  any  shadow  of  a  He  on  his  own  soul, 
did  then  most  foolishly  reveal  former  fancies  and 
visions  of  wealth  that  now  paled  into  insignificance 
beside  the  day-star  of  his  passion. 

"Then  you  once  did  have  mercenary  dreams?" 

Constante  thought  her  soft  tones  filled  with 
incredulity  and  sympathy,  and  blundered  on. 

"  Most  certainly.  Ask  Maurice  — he  knows.  You 
see  I  was  foolish  ;  I  had  dreamed  of  finding  a  rich 
wife  on  these  shores." 

"Oh,  you  did?" 

"  Indeed,  yes.  How  far  away  that  folly  looks!  So 
when  I  heard  —  yes,  beloved,  I  will  confess  all  the 
sin  of  it  —  when  I  heard  of  the  beautiful  widow  of 
Villette  —  charming,  and  rich  — 

uOh,  monster!  He  will  kill  me,  this  French  bar 
barian  !  Was  the  end  of  your  scheme,  monsieur,  to 


A    RENDEZVOUS.  295 

lock  me  in  a  convent  or  strangle  me  in  the  waters  of 
the  great  river  ?  Oh,  I  shall  die !  Do  not  seek  to 
argue  with  me.  I  am  sure  I  shall  die  ! " 

And  as  a  recompense  for  his  sincere  rendering  up 
of  the  truth  to  her,  Constante  found  himself  on  his 
knees  before  an  empty  chair  and  the  departing 
vision  of  his  lady-love  as  she  impetuously  made  a 
stormy  retreat  into  the  court. 

" Shall  I  follow  her?  Will  she  forever  refuse  to 
look  on  me  again  ?  Must  my  life  then  end  in  some 
monk's  cell  —  alone  and  desolate  ?"  were  a  few  of  the 
questions  he  asked  of  himself  in  despair.  "  Oh,  fool 
that  I  am  !  Why  did  I  tell  her  ?  Fool  — angel  that 
she  is!  Why  did  she  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  story? 
I'll  go  mad  !  " 

But  in  the  going  he  almost  fell  over  Maurice,  who 
entered  at  that  moment,  and  who  gazed  on  Constante 
with  astonished  eyes. 

u  Did  you  see  her?  Is  she  angry  beyond  pardon? 
Oh,  I  beg  you  to  tell  me,  when  my  soul's  happiness 
depends  on  it." 

"  You  mean  Madame  Villette  ?  Yes,  I  passed  her 
in  the  room  beyond.  Pray  what  has  chanced  to 
separate  you  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  accursed  tongue  —  my  lack  of  wit.  vShe 
spoke  truly  when  she  said  I  lacked  wit  sadly.  Tell 
me,  I  beg  of  you,  how  did  she  look  —  what  did  she 
say?  Was  she  weeping?  Oh,  Ninon,  Ninon!" 

Delogne  managed  at  last  to  learn  the  reason  of  his 
despair,  but  avoided  making  any  statement  as  to 
the  lady's  expression  or  possible  state  of  mind,  for, 
amused  as  he  was,  he  dare  not  tell  the  frantic  lover 


296  A   FLOWER   OF  FRANCE. 

that  he  had  come  upon  Madame  Ninon  laughing 
most  heartily  under  the  palm-trees. 

"  She  asked  only  to  be  admitted  to  the  aged  priest 
of  whom  we  spoke,  so  you  had  best  not  follow  her 
there  with  your  stumbling  speech.  It  is  only  right 
that  you  do  penance  in  solitude  for  awhile.  You,  upon 
my  word,  the  last  man  I  should  think  so  simple  as 
to  tell  such  truths  to  a  woman." 

"  I  vow  if  she  forgives  me  this  time  never  to  tell 
her  the  truth  again,"  declared  the  troubled  wooer 
with  great  earnestness;  "  and  if  you  will  permit 
me  I  will  at  least  remain  here  until  she  needs 
an  escort  home.  May  the  saints  move  her  to  par 
don  me ! " 

"Stay,  and  welcome.  Have  you  been  at  the 
Cabildo  to-day,  or  heard  more  of  the  red  men  and 
their  cause  ?  What  say  the  planters  ?  " 

"  Much  that  is  not  complimentary  to  our  friend 
Lamort,"  confessed  the  other.  "  I  assure  you  there 
is  a  divided  idea  abroad  as  to  whether  he  is  an 
angel  of  light  for  the  help  of  the  lower  classes  or  a 
demon  of  darkness  for  the  overthrow  of  the  rulers, 
and  for  the  stripping  away  all  the  cloaks  from  their 
luxurious,  careless  sins.  It  is  well  he  is  brave,  else 
he  could  not  hope  to  weather  the  storm  he  has 
raised." 

"  Is  Durande  so  bitter  about  the  red  slaves  ?  " 

"  Furious.  And  Senor  Ronando  is  ever  at  his 
elbow  to  exclaim  over  the  injustice  of  setting  them 
free ;  in  fact  more  than  one  planter  sees  in  it  per 
haps  a  future  uprising  of  the  black  slaves  as  well, 
and  of  course  it  would  ruin  the  colony  to  .set  them 


A   RENDEZVOUS.  297 

free.  But  Monsieur  Lamort  is  a  comparative 
stranger  and  does  not  think  for  the  future  here. 
They  say  he  only  follows  wild  whims,  and  Satan 
seems  to  aid  him  in  his  schemes.  I  tell  you,  Mau 
rice,  I  esteem  him  highly,  but  strange  things  are 
said  of  him,  even  witchcraft  is  whispered,  for  he 
brings  forward  laws  and  testaments  that  the  judges 
dare  not  disdain  —  legal  documents  of  the  early 
Spanish  rule,  things  singular  for  a  stranger  to  own ; 
and  by  them  he  has  forced  unwilling  judgment  in 
his  favor  there  at  the  Cabildo ;  and  even  the  officials 
who  grant  his  claims  disapprove  them.  So  you  see 
our  friend  is  stirring  up  days  of  storm  for  himself." 

"  Perhaps  ;  I  doubt  if  he  cares.  But  tell  me,  has 
there  come  to  you  any  further  word  of  Don  Diego 
and  the  specter?" 

"  Not  a  whisper.  I  did  but  show  my  face  there 
this  noon,  and  the  voice  of  Senora  Zanalta  sounded 
so  dangerously  near  that  I  made  most  hasty  retreat. 
However,  I  met  him  on  the  banquette  later,  and  he 
appeared  strong  and  composed." 

"The  banquette  at  noon-time  is  not  a  favorite 
promenade  with  most  noble  gentlemen  here." 

"  True ;  but  Zanalta  is  often  a  busy  man,  and  goes 
where  his  interests  call  him.  A  half-Indian  boat 
man  was  his  object  to-day.  Sacre!  there  he  is  now." 

"  The  Indian  boatman  ?  " 

"Oh,  confusion  —  no.  It  is  Zanalta,  and  he  will 
not  fail  to  discover  Ninon  here,  and  he  will  think  it 
a  fine  piece  of  folly  that  we  sally  forth  to  meet  in 
another  house  than  his.  Hide  me,  can  you  not  ?  If 
he  finds  her  alone  with  the  old  priest  he  will  think 


298  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

her  what  she   is,  an  angel ;   but   if  I  also  am  dis 
covered  he  will  think  her  a  fool." 

Delogne  pointed  to  an  adjoining  room,  and  Raynel 
quickly  took  the  hint  and  disappeared  there,  and, 
settling  himself  behind  some  curtains,  listened, 
expecting  each  instant  to  hear  the  soft  tones  of  the 
Spanish  gentleman;  but  not  a  sound  came  to  him, 
not  even  the  step  of  Maurice,  who  must  still  be 
standing  there  by  the  window  facing  the  street. 

With  the  idea  that  Don  Zanalta  had  perhaps 
halted  at  the  portal  for  a  chat  with  some  one,  and 
would  directly  enter,  Constante  remained  in  his 
nook  until  the  sunlight  was  all  gone  from  the  sky. 
An  early  star  had  slipped  from  its  blue  draperies 
and  shone  gleaming  and  silvery  through  the  lattice 
at  him.  The  half  of  an  hour  must  have  passed,  and 
not  a  sound.  He  arose  impatiently  and  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  reception-room. 

Delogne  yet  stood  at  the  lattice,  his  eyes  gazing 
earnestly  out,  and  his  hands  clasped  tightly  behind 
him.  His  face  was  pale  from  some  effort  of  self- 
control. 

"  Would  you  have  left  me  there  all  of  the  night, 
Maurice?"  complained  his  friend.  "  Each  instant  I 
expected  to  hear  him  speak,  yet  he  evidently  passed 
on,  and  you  never  called  me." 

The  complaint  fell  on  deaf  ears,  and  looking  at 
Delogne  in  wonder  for  a  moment,  he  crossed  over 
beside  him,  taking  him  affectionately  by  the  arm. 
"  Maurice,  you  are  ill  —  what  is  it  ?  Come,  rest  here. 
By  my  faith,  you  stood  there  as  though  made  of 
wood  or  stone.  What  ails  you,  man  ?  " 


A    RENDEZVOUS.  299 

"  He  went  there  —  to  the  convent."  And  Delogne, 
despite  the  detaining  hand  of  his  friend,  returned 
again  to  his  point  of  lookout. 

"  Who  do  you  mean  —  Zanalta  ?  " 

"He." 

"  But  what  of  that !  Saints  in  heaven,  what  a 
fright  you  gave  me  !  Your  hand  is  cold,  your  face 
looks  like  the  dead,  and  all  because  a  gentleman  of 
the  town  takes  the  air  near  the  convent  gate  of 
an  evening." 

"  Be  wary  !  Though  you  are  my  friend,  I  will  ever 
check  your  jesting  on  this  one  subject.  I  tell  you 
his  visit  there  this  night  bodes  ill." 

"  How  could  that  be  —  whence  comes  your  fancy  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  tell,  but  I  dare  swear  I  am  right.  All 
this  day  a  heavy  cloud  has  weighed  upon  me.  All 
my  endeavors  could  not  set  it  aside  —  a  dark  un 
formed  shadow  of  foreboding.  Here  at  this  lattice 
that  shadow  took  form  as  I  saw  Diego  Zanalta  pass 
onward  to  the  convent.  He  goes  not  there  in  the 
cause  of  any  charity  at  this  hour ;  I  am  possessed  by 
the  fear  that  he  is  there  for  harm  to  the  Lady 
Denise." 

"  Pooh  !  you  are  affrighted  at  shadows.  What  sub 
stance  have  you  to  found  those  fancies  upon  ?  " 

"Only  the  manner  of  the  man  when  at  any  time 
she  has  come  in  range  of  his  eyes ;  and  she  herself 
dreads  him  —  I  know  it,  for  she  ever  avoids  his 
speech  or  his  glance.  Oh,  I  tell  you  - 

He  stopped  abruptly,  with  a  look  on  his  face  as  if 
some  long-delayed  comprehension  had  been  granted 
him. 


300  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Constante,  tell  me,  where  is  the  knife  we  picked 
up  on  the  sward  that  night  when  the  lady  was 
assaulted  — is  it  here,  or  did  you  keep  it?  Some 
chance  there  is  to  find  substance  instead  of  shadow 
for  my  theory.  Where  did  you  put  the  knife  ?  " 

"  In  your  own  chest  brought  over  from  France ; 
if  you  have  not  removed  it  you  will  doubtless  find 
it  there  in  all  safety." 

"  Come,  then,  we  will  see." 

A  minute  later  they  were  bending  over  the  chest, 
and  Constante  drew  the  knife  out  from  the  place 
where  he  had  put  it  —  a  slender,  wicked  blade  with  a 
handle  of  ivory  wreathed  about  with  twisted  silver, 
a  thing  too  handsome  for  a  poor  negro  to  own  unless 
perchance  by  theft.  It  recalled  his  own  silfint  sus 
picion  as  to  the  owner. 

Then  Delogne  sent  a  slave  with  a  message  to 
Madame  Ninon  Villette,  and  a  moment  later  the 
patter,  patter  of  her  little  heels  was  heard  on  the  tiled 
floor.  She  assumed  an  expression  of  great  dignity 
at  sight  of  humble  Constante,  but  smiled  in  a  mad 
dening  way  at  the  chevalier. 

"  Madame,  I  asked  but  to  be  received  for  an 
instant,  and  did  not  presume  to  ask  that  you  come 
to  me,"  said  Maurice,  bowing  low. 

"What  matters  it,  monsieur?  And  really  I  was 
reading  aloud  to  the  missionary  of  the  red  men's 
country,  and  fancied  the  interruption  of  my  absence 
for  a  moment  would  not  so  much  disturb  him  as  to 
hear  converse  in  his  presence  on  other  topics." 

"  Ever  thinking  of  others  in  that  kindly  heart  of 
yours,"  smiled  the  chevalier;  "  and  I  promise  not  to 


A   RENDEZVOUS.  301 

detain  you  long  from  so  laudable  a  duty.  To  settle 
a  vexed  question  I  only  wish  to  ask  if  you  have  ever 
before  seen  this?" 

She  drew  back,  looking  with  startled  inquiry  into 
his  face. 

"  What  has  happened  —  why  do  you  ask,  and  look 
so  exceedingly  earnest  ?  I  entreat  you  to  tell  me  if 
he  has  done  himself  aught  of  injury." 

"  If  who  has  done  himself  injury  ?  "  asked  Delogne. 
But  she  turned  to  the  other. 

"You,  Constante,  you  know  who  I  mean  —  tell 
me !  " 

"  No,  madame ;  no  injury  has  been  done  by  the 
knife,  if  that  is  what  you  mean."  And  Raynel  dared 
move  a  step  or  two  nearer  her  in  the  joy  of  hearing 
her  address  him  once-more.  "  The  weapon  has  been 
found,  and  we  were  not  sure  as  to  the  owner  — 
that  is  all." 

"  Oh  !  "  And  she  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  "  How 
silly  you  will  think  me,  my  dear  Chevalier !  But  really 
I  have  had  many  disturbing  fancies  of  late  because  of 
my  half-brother's  ill  health,  or  sleeplessness,  for  he 
is  not  ill,  by  his  own  confession,  but  only  nervous ; 
and  to  be  asked  so  strangely  about  his  knife  —  well, 
I  feared  some  harm  had  come  to  him." 

"  I  am  disconsolate  at  having  disturbed  you."  And 
Delogne's  face  was  full  of  kindly  regret.  "  But 
you  have  decided  our  ideas  as  to  the  ownership ;  and 
may  I  now  conduct  you  back  to  your  post  of  mercy  ?  " 

She  bowed  and  rested  her  fingers  on  his  arm, 
bequeathing  to  the  wistful  eyes  of  Raynel  only  a 
cool  little  nod.  But  he  felt  sure  he  was  no  longer 


302  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

beyond  hope.     Had  she  not  turned  to  him  in  her 
wonder  and  fear? 

"  Now  do  you  see  the  substance  for  that  fancy  of 
mine?"  demanded  Delogne  as  he  returned. 
"You  mean  that  this  belonged  to  Zanalta?" 
"  More  than  that.  The  blacks  who  tried  to  kid 
nap  her  were  hirelings  of  Zanalta.  He  armed 
them,  or  else  one  of  them  armed  himself  from  his 
master's  store  of  cutlery.  I  felt  it  was  so  ere  I  put 
it  in  words,  just  as  I  felt  the  approach  of  evil  all 
this  day ;  and  it  is  evil  to  her  again,  and  from  that 
man.  Come !  I  myself  will  guard  the  convent  gate 
to-night,  lest  some  plot  of  his  should  draw  her  out 
into  the  darkness.  Will  you  be  with  me?" 

"  Wait !  Is  that  not  the  voice  of  Zanalta  now  in 
the  court?"  whispered  Constante. 

A  moment's  listening  proved  it  true.  He  was 
asking  questions  impatiently  of  a  slave  at  the  door, 
a  slave  who  was  so  stupid  as  not  to  know  when  his 
master  would  be  in. 

But  even  while  they  listened  a  step  sounded  behind 
them,  and  Monsieur  Lamort  entered,  serene  and 
calm  as  ever.  He  bowed  to  the  two  gentlemen,  and 
passed  through  to  the  reception-room,  where  he 
could  easily  distinguish  the  voice  of  Zanalta,  and 
also  a  most  impatient  tramping  as  he  paced  the  floor. 
And  at  the  instant  Lamort  disappeared  through 
the  one  door  the  slave-woman  Venda  appeared  at 
the  other  as  though  following  him.  Not  the  tranquil 
Vencla  of  old,  but  a  woman  who  breathed  hard,  as 
one  who  has  moved  swiftly.  Her  eyes  were  blood 
shot  and  strained  ;  she  lifted  her  feet  heavily,  as  one 


DENISE   AND    SISTER   ANDREA.  303 

who  is  old.  She  seemed  hastening  to  reach  her 
master,  but  stopped  as  that  other  voice  was  heard 
greeting  him. 

Then  she  turned  her  face  toward  the  young  men, 
gazed  on  them  in  strange,  troubled  fashion,  and 
raised  one  hand  as  though  waving  them  back,  or 
beseeching  them  not  to  follow. 

And   with    only    that  mute  sign  to  express  her 
prayer,  she  moved  on  toward  the  reception-room  - 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DENISE   AND  SISTER   ANDREA. 

IN  the  early  dusk  two  figures  stood  together  at  the 
western  casement  of  the  convent,  two  with  but 
little  of  heaven's  peace  in  their  eyes.  The  bonds 
of  earth  are  strong  in  the  flesh,  and  the  beautiful 
serene  Sister  Andrea  was  the  most  despairing  of 
the  two. 

She  dropped  on  her  knees  sobbingly,  and  strove 
to  draw  Denise  with  her,  but  the  young  girl  stood 
white  and  cold  and  would  not  bend. 

"  If  it  is  true  —  if  they  give  me  up  to  him,  I  will 
never  pray  again,"  she  said,  with  hard  decision. 

"  Oh,  my  child,  prayer  helps  women  to  bear  their 
burdens.  You  will  learn  as  you  grow  older  how  it 
lightens  the  sorrows  that  are  sent  to  us.  Women 
are  weak,  Denise,  and—  " 


304  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  I  am  not  weak,"  and  she  stretched  out  her  arms, 
and  clasped  and  unclasped  her  white  hands.  "  See, 
do  they  look  like  weak  hands  ?  You  know  they  do 
not.  And  if  they  let  him  touch  me,  he  will  need 
the  prayers,  not  I.  I  would  never  pray  again." 

"  Denise,  my  poor  child,  it  is  terrible  to  hear  one 
so  young-  speak  like  that ;  it  is  wicked,  wicked  !  And 
you  poor  dove,  what  would  all  your  strength  do 
against  that  man's  will  ?  Many  a  strong  man  has 
been  caught  helpless  in  his  traps,  so  what  can  you, 
a  mere  child,  do?  Kneel  down  and  pray  —  pray 
for  this  cross  to  be  lifted  aside." 

"No;  what  use  is  it?  Did  not  our  mother  con 
fess  that  if  the  signature  of  the  governor  or  of 
Monsieur  Lamort  was  set  to  that  paper  she  would 
be  obliged  to  give  me  up,  and  that  I  must  at  least 
be  removed  to-morrow,  for  the  reputation  of  the 
school,  lest  it  be  known  that  one  who  has  shared 
their  advantages  is  after  all  only  a  slave  ?  " 

"Oh,  Denise,  speak  not  with  so  much  of  bitterness. 
The  good  mother  is  in  great  distress  of  mind.  She 
must  do  the  thing  she  sees  to  be  her  duty  to  the  con 
vent.  All  her  acts  must  be  answerable  to  the 
church  ;  and  she  knows  well  this  man  spoke  wisely 
when  he  said  her  refusal  could  be  made  to  ruin 
utterly  the  school  she  has  tended  with  so  much  of 
care.  And  can  you  not  see  she  longs  to  favor  you, 
else  he  would  have  won  his  argument  even  without 
the  signature,  as  he  evidently  hoped  to  do.  Oh, 
Denise,  grow  not  cruel  in  your  heart  against  all 
people  just  because  of  one  man  whose  heart  is  bad." 

"  I  could  never  be  cruel  in  thought  to  you,"  and 


DENISE   AND    SISTER   ANDREA.  305 

the  cold  hand  of  Denise  pressed  the  head  of  the 
kneeling  nun  against  her ;  "  and  though  I  should 
find  strength  to  kill  him,  I  know  your  lips  would 
ever  utter  pitiful  prayers  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Denise,  Denise  !  It  must  not  be  !  All  saints 
help  us  !  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

The  girl  gazed  out  with  somber  eyes  at  the  sky 
where  the  stars  shone.  Each  instant  she  listened 
for  the  sound  of  the  bell  and  the  opening  of  the  con 
vent  gate  to  the  man  who  called  himself  her  master. 

"We  can  only  wait  until  he  comes,  I  think," 
she  said,  in  that  cold,  unchildlike  way.  "  When  I 
begged  the  mother  superior  to  let  me  go  to  the 
house  of  Monsieur  Lamort  she  said,  '  No,  there  must 
be  no  scandal ;  we  must  wait  for  the  law  to  judge; 
and  that  monsieur  would  not  sign  it  unless  it  was 
right;'  so  that  leaves  us  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 
And  when  he  does  come,  with  all  the  power  of  the 
law,  she  will  expect  me  to  bow  my  head  to  my 
master  and  walk  out  of  that  gate  at  his  bidding.  I ! 
Do  they  not  guess  that  I  would  sooner  cast  myself 
from  the  roof  to  that  stone  paving? " 

The  older  woman  only  moaned  and  knelt,  still 
praying  beside  the  girl  who  stood  as  though  carved 
of  stone.  And  thus  they  waited  the  dread  tidings. 

Then  a  hurried  step  approached  in  the  corridor ; 
not  the  step  of  a  man,  nor  had  the  bell  at  the  gate 
sounded.  It  halted  at  the  door,  and  without  tapping 
the  abbess  entered  the  room. 

Her  strong,  wise  face  was  much  agitated.  She 
held  a  flat  packet  and  her  hands  were  trembling. 

"  Child,  be  in  haste,"  she  said,  and  reached  out  the 

20 


306  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

little  package.  "  I  give  my  consent  that  you  go  at  once 
to  the  house  of  the  good  Monsieur  Lamort.  Take 
with  you  this,  and  tell  him  I  said  he  must  read  it  ere 
making  decision.  Its  contents  I  know  not,  and  no 
time  is  to  be  lost  by  reading  it  here.  Our  blessed 
Mother  Agnace  left  it.  You  were  but  a  baby  when 
I  saw  it  last,  done  up  just  as  it  is  now.  It  is  of  you, 
perhaps  of  your  parents,  it  tells.  See,  there  is  your 
name — ' The  child  called  Denise.'  Ah!  the  saints 
be  praised  that  I  did  chance  on  it  among  those  old 
parchments  !  But  go  —  go  quickly.  Take  with  you 
old  Marie  of  the  gate." 

But  vSister  Andrea,  yet  on  her  knees,  spoke : 
"  I  pray  you  no,  good  mother.     If  this  girl  is  to 
go  thus  for  judgment,  I  ask  that  I  may  be  the  one  to 
guard  her." 

"  You,  Sister  Andrea,  who  never  go  without  the 
gate?  " 

"It  is  my  first  request,  mother,  and  we  lose  time." 
"  True.  I  consent,  and  may  the  blessing  of  God 
go  with  you.  Until  you  return  I  shall  never  cease 
to  pray  that  these  papers  may  prove  Senor  Zanalta's 
claim  a  great  mistake  by  which  he  has  been  blinded. 
Denise  —  my  child  !  " 

She  raised  her  hands  in  benediction ;  but  Denise, 
who  had  ever  before  bent  humble  knee  to  that 
gesture,  only  bent  her  head  to  the  blessing,  and 
raised  it  a  little  higher  as  she  passed  out  by  the 
lady.  The  thing  she  felt  was  a  wrong  had  for  the 
first  time  made  her  haughty  and  cold  instead  of 
humble.  And  the  mother  superior  smiled  sadly  as 
she  watched  her  go. 


ONCE    MORE    ZIZI.  307 

"  It  is  vSaid  that  Gaston  le  Noyens  was  a  proud 
man,"  she  mused,  "and  his  pride  will  live  as  long- 
as  she  lives  if  she  indeed  prove  to  be  his  daughter. 
A  very  proud  slave,  Don  Zanalta,  and  I  fear  me 
some  one  will  suffer  besides  Denise  if  she  should  be 
proven  the  child  of  a  slave- woman." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ONCE    MORE    ZIZI. 

IN  the  house  of  Monsieur  Lamort  the  master 
stood  facing  Diego  Zanalta  and  hesitating  over  the 
paper  before  him. 

"  But  this  is  so  astonishing  !  The  convent  child 
is  then  the  daughter  of  Gaston  le  Noyens  and  his 
slave-girl  Zizi?  " 

"  Exactly.  Since  that  time  the  brown  woman  has 
called  herself  Vendn,  but  the  change  of  name  has 
not  changed  the  woman.  She  is  your  slave  now, 
but  she  was  mine  when  that  child  was  born.  She 
confessed  all  to-day  and  made  her  mark  there.  You 
know  the  evil  wrought  in  this  land  by  white-skinned 
slaves  sharing  the  associations  of  their  superiors, 
hence  my  anxiety  to  remove  her  at  once  from 
among  these  daughters  of  gentlemen  at  the  convent. 
The  abbess  prays  it  may  be  done  to-night,  though 
she  needs  legal  papers  ere  the  girl  is  transferred  to 
me." 


308  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

He  was  trying,  with  what  show  of  indifference  he 
could,  to  assume  that  it  was  to  serve  the  abbess 
more  than  himself  that  he  came  at  so  unseemly  an 
hour,  but  his  eyes  were  alight  with  eagerness  as  he 
watched  Lamort. 

"And  my  slave  Venda  was  once  Zizi  of  the 
house  of  Le  Noyens  ?"  remarked  that  gentleman, 
dreamily.  "  Strange  it  never  occurred  to  me.  That 
explains  — 

"  Explains  what,  monsieur?  " 

Lamort  aroused  himself  from  his  reveries  and 
smiled. 

"When  one  commences  to  think  aloud  it  is  a  sure 
sign  that  he  is  growing  old,  is  it  not,  senor  ?  But  I 
was  thinking  that  her  identity  with  Zizi  would 
explain  her  strange  knowledge  from  the  very  first 
of  every  corner  of  my  house,  for  of  course  she  had 
lived  here." 

"  Yes,  yes  —  but  this  paper,  it  waits  your  signing." 
And  Zanalta  dipped  a  quill  in  the  ink-well  and 
reached  it  to  Monsieur  Lamort. 

"  I  strangely  dislike  the  task  you  bring  me,"  he 
confessed.  "  She  is  a  fair  maiden  for  such  a  curse 
to  have  been  her  portion.  Tell  me,  when  once  she 
is  in  your  possession  would  you  sell  her  to  me  at  your 
own  price,  that  I  may  be  sure  she  never  will  meet 
the  black  hands  as  one  they  dare  claim  ?  Whatever 
her  mother's  blood,  she  is  too  white  a  soul  for  the 
life  fair  slaves  drift  into  on  these  shores.  Pardon 
my  blunt  speech,  senor,  but  I  would  save  her  for 
higher  uses  and  a  life  somewhere  away  from  her 
mother's  race." 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  309 

Zanalta  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  You  think  about  the  girl  as  I  think,  monsieur ; 
and  though  she  is  the  daughter  of  my  slave,  by  that 
slave's  confession,  yet  I  remember  also  she  is  the 
child  of  the  one  friend  I  had  in  my  youth  here  - 
Gaston  le  Noyens.  My  sister-in-law  sails  for  Madrid 
in  the  next  ship.  The  girl  shall  go  with  her  and 
live  her  life  in  fair  Spain.  So  you  see  I  too  think 
of  her  welfare." 

And  his  gaze  was  so  open,  so  kindly,  that 
Victor  Lamort  believed  him.  He  looked  at  the 
space  where  his  name  was  to  be  written  —  he,  one  of 
the  dispensers  of  justice  !  And  his  purpose  wavered 
as  the  thought  of  Maurice  came  to  him  —  Maurice, 
whose  heart  would  be  broken  by  the  knowledge  of 
that  paper ;  Maurice,  who  idolized  her,  whose  every 
hope  was  toward  winning  her ;  and  yet,  an  illegiti 
mate  child,  and  one  of  the  slave  blood,  to  be  selected 
as  a  wife  for  one  of  the  Delogne  family !  No,  it 
would  not  be  wise  to  allow  it. 

"  You  are  sensible  to  give  so  much  of  thought  ere 
you  act  for  justice,  monsieur,"  remarked  Zanalta, 
easily.  "  But  it  grows  late,  and  I  have  brought  you 
that  ancient  plan  of  the  lands  you  desired  so  much 
to  see.  We  might  find  time  to  examine  it  after  we 
have  this  other  business  disposed  of.  I  heard  it 
said  only  to-day  in  a  discussion  of  a  land  question 
that  no  such  accurate  survey  had  ever  been  made  of 
Royal  Grant  and  the  surrounding  estates,  and  I 
was  at  once  reminded  to  look  it  up  and  bring  it 
over." 

He  held  in  his  hand  the  roll  of  yellow  parchment, 


310  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

with  the  dull-red  lettering  on  the  outer  scroll  and 
the  seal  of  the  crown  showing  on  its  gilt  cord. 

Lamort's  eyes  narrowed  and  shone  with  a  differ 
ent  light.  His  hobby,  whatever  it  was,  suddenly 
recurred  at  the  sight  of  that  legal-looking  document 
from  which  he  could  glean  power.  This  other 
paper  before  him,  with  the  fate  of  a  life  in  it—  with 
the  broken  heart  of  Maurice  in  it  —  what  was  all 
their  tinsel  joys  or  sorrows  beside  the  work  to 

which  he  had  devoted  his  soul  and  strength the 

dream  of  his  manhood,  the  realization  that  was  now 
coming  to  him  in  his  older  years  ? 

''Nothing,"  he  decided,  and  himself  dipped  the 
quill  again  in  the  ink  and  signed  the  paper. 

Denise  by  those  strokes  of  the  pen  was  legally 
declared  a  slave,  and  the  possession  of  her  person 
was  granted  to  Don  Diego  Zanalta. 

Zanalta  drew  a  long  breath,  and  laid  the  survey  of 
the  Royal  Grant  on  the  desk  where  the  ink  rested. 

It  had  been  a  close  battle  of  wits,  and  he  had 
won.  He  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  paper 
Lamort  had  signed,  but  ere  Zanalta's  fingers  touched 
it  he  was  dashed  aside,  the  paper  was  snatched  from 
Lamort's  extended  hand,  and  the  slave-woman  stood 
between  them  tearing  the  document  into  bits. 

With  a  guttural  cry  like  a  mad  beast  Zanalta 
sprung  toward  her,  with  the  gleam  of  steel  showing 
in  his  hand ;  but  quick  as  light  she  avoided  him 
and  sped  to  the  other  side  of  her  master,  clutching 
his  arm. 

"  I  ask  your  help  for  one  hour  —  because  of  this,  " 
she  said ;  and  drawing  forth  a  chain  from  her  neck 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  311 

she  held  up  a  piece  of  coin  attached  to  it,  a  gold- 
piece  with  a  hole  in  it  —  a  hole  through  the  king's 
head  on  it.  "  You  have  not  forgotten,"  she  said ; 
but  his  hand  only  came  down  heavily  on  her 
shoulder  as  she  knelt ;  with  the  other  he  touched 
his  sword. 

"  We  do  not  knife  slaves  in  our  parlors,  Don 
Zanalta,  even  for  so  great  an  impertinence  as  this 
has  been.  To  me  she  will  give  account  of  her 
action.  Speak,  Venda." 

"  No  ! "  And  she  glanced  at  Zanalta,  who  was 
watching  her  with  threatening  eyes. 

"  Venda !  " 

"  No,  master,  not  Venda."  And  she  crouched  at  her 
master's  feet.  "  Vendiant  —  Venda,  that  is  name  of 
betrayal.  Oh,  master!  just  now,  this  once  more, 
I  am  Zizi  again  —  I  am  faithful.  The  false  is  there 
—  the  man  who  betrayed  you,  who  would  betray 
you  again,  who  brings  you  there  a  paper  of  the 
lands  that  is  a  lie  —  for  see  !  "  And  she  moved  to  the 
heavy  old  desk  and  from  some  receptacle  at  the  back 
of  it  brought  the  original  paper  that  Zanalta  had 
sought  in  vain.  "But  that  is  little  —  is  nothing," 
she  said,  as  she  laid  it  in  her  master's  hand.  "  He 
is  most  false  of  all  when  he  says  Mademoiselle 
Denise  is  of  slave  blood.  She — never!" 

Steps  were  heard  behind  them.  Their  exclama 
tions  had  been  heard  even  beyond  the  court,  and 
Madame  Ninon  stood  there  in  wonder  beside  the 
old  priest  to  whom  she  had  been  reading.  Constante 
crossed  to  her  intending  to  quiet  any  alarm  she 
might  feel ;  but  Maurice  stood  in  the  doorway  as 


312  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

one   paralyzed   at   the  fragment    heard :      "  Made 
moiselle  Denise  of  slave  blood." 

"  You  slave,  beware  !  "  And  Zanalta  took  a  step 
toward  the  woman,  by  his  tone  forcing  her  to  look 
up  and  meet  the  intense  significance  of  his  gaze. 
She  felt  the  meaning  of  it,  and  for  one  instant 
shivered.  "You  are  mad,"  he  went  on.  "  Did  you 
not  acknowledge  that  the  child  was  taken  to  the 
convent  by  you  ?  " 

Just  then  Maurice  saw  two  figures  move  hand  in 
hand  through  the  palms.  He  went  to  meet  them ; 
one  the  beautiful  distressed  face  of  the  nun  the 
other  was  Denise,  who  looked  at  him  with  eyes  of 
anguish. 

"Yes,"  said  Venda,  reluctantly,  to  Zanalta's 
question. 

"  So !  yours ;  the  child  of  a  white  father.  Mine, 
for  you  were  my  property  at  its  birth.  You  see, 
monsieur,  the  word  of  a  slave — " 

Victor  Lamort's  eyes  were  on  the  face  of  Venda. 
What  did  she  mean  ?  Was  she  indeed  that  Zizi  who 
had  been  favorite  in  the  last  days  of  Le  Noyens  ? 
And  what  else  was  she  that  she  knew  so  much,  and 
dared  assert  her  knowledge  —  she  who  had  known 
all  the  life  and  loves  in  this  house  years  ago !  He 
touched  her  on  the  head. 

"Whose  is  the  child?"  he  asked.  "Whatever 
your  blood,  I  can  trust  your  word,  Zizi." 

"  Who  spoke  then  ?  "  asked  Sister  Andrea  of  Mau 
rice  ;  and  he  smiled  reassuringly  in  her  troubled 
eyes. 

"  That  is  Monsieur  Victor  Lamort,"  he  said  ;  "  and 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  313 

you  may  trust  safely  to  his  justice.  If  you  will 
allow  me,  I  will  present  those  papers  for  his  notice, 
and  you  may  rest  here  under  the  palms  for  a  mo 
ment  until  he  comes  to  you ;  and  in  God's  name  — 
in  love's  name,  Denise,  look  not  so  coldly  hopeless." 

The  girl  only  looked  at  him  with  all  that  blind 
pain  in  her  eyes.  The  mere  thought  that  she  was  a 
slave  by  birth ! 

But  the  nun  leaned  back  in  the  shadows  of  the 
palm-leaves. 

"  Monsieur  Victor  Lamort,"  she  whispered  to  her 
self.  "  Victor  Lamort  —  the  victor  of  death  !  What 
does  it  mean  ?  And  Zizi !  " 

The  lips  of  Zizi  were  pressed  on  her  master's  hand 
in  a  sort  of  adoration  at  the  sound  of  the  tender 
Old  World  name  uttered  by  him. 

"  To-morrow,  master,"  and  her  eyes  were  turned 
on  Zanalta,  defiantly,  "when  we  are  alone,  I  will 
tell  you." 

"  To-morrow  —  devils  !     That  will  be  too  late  - 

"Too  late?  Oh,  yes,"  and  Lamort  smiled  care 
lessly  ;  "  you  had  planned  a  little  sailing  trip,  had  you 
not,  and  waiting  will  interfere  ?  Well,  the  weather 
promises  fair,  and  a  day  sooner  or  later  should  not 
matter." 

"What  do  you  know  of  my  plans?"  he  de 
manded,  angrily,  though  he  was  striving  hard  to 
keep  his  temper. 

"  Only  that  the  former  commander  of  the  Sea 
Gull  has  sold  her  to  me,  and  will  be  seen  no  more 
on  these  shores,"  remarked  the  other;  "and  in  the 
transfer  it  was  mentioned  that  the  vessel  had  been 


314  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

promised  you  for  a  few  weeks.  It  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  then,  but  not  quite  so  much  so  now, 
senor.  This  false  paper  has  changed  much  in  my 
eyes,  and  I  am  suddenly  reminded  that  a  companion 
—  a  lady  —  was  to  go  with  you."  His  voice  grew 
more  and  more  stern  as  he  continued,  and  in  the 
wake  of  his  own  words  came  the  realization  that  it 
must  have  been  Denise  who  was  to  go  with  him. 
"  I  shall  trouble  you  now,  Don  Zanalta,  to  inform  me 
who  that  lady  is." 

"  It  was  to  have  been  Senora  Zanalta,"  declared 
the  Spaniard,  impatiently.  "  But  you  do  me  injus 
tice,  monsieur;  and  my  holiday  has  nothing  to 
do  with  to-night's  business.  Listen,  monsieur. 
You  saw  that  woman's  confession,  which  she  now 
denies.  The  girl  is  my  slave,  but  refuses  to  own 
her  bond  to  me.  She  has  won  the  poorer  classes  to 
her  by  her  charity  and  youth,  and  if  there  is  time 
to  warn  those  plebeians  who  think  her  a  saint,  there 
may  be  a  rising  of  that  mob,  and  perhaps  the  blacks 
as  well.  You  know  what  that  would  mean.  They 
would  blindly  burn  the  house  of  every  aristocrat.  I 
only  ask  that  which  is  legally  mine.  I  swear  she 
has  bewitched  those  papers  of  the  survey.  I  know 
nothing  of  it.  You  signed  the  claim  once,  mon 
sieur ;  sign  another.  I  ask  only  my  slave." 

His  feverish  eagerness  told  against  him;  and 
more,  Maurice  Delogne  came  forward  at  that  mo 
ment  with  the  packet  given  him  by  Sister  Andrea. 

"Monsieur,  this  is  from  the  good  abbess  at  the 
convent.  You  are  asked  by  her  to  read  the  contents 
ere  deciding  the  claim  of  Senor  Zanalta." 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  315 

"Facts  pertaining  to  the  child  called  Denise," 
Monsieur  Lamort  read  from  the  enveloping  scroll. 
"Chevalier  Delogne,  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to 
open  and  read  us  the  main  points  contained  in 
this?" 

He  looked  weary,  and  seated  himself  on  the  couch, 
leaving  Venda  kneeling  there  alone  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor.  He  had  not  yet  turned  his  head  to  see 
who  it  was  had  entered  the  room  of  the  palms  as 
messenger. 

Senor  Zanalta  picked  up  his  hat,  with  a  fine  air  of 
indifference.  "  I  see  some  plot  has  been  set  afoot 
since  my  visit  to  the  convent,"  he  said,  meaningly  ; 
"  for  less  than  an  hour  ago  the  abbess  pretended  to 
no  knowledge  of  such  a  document.  I  will  leave 
you,  monsieur,  to  the  perusal  of  these  forgeries." 

"  I  think  you  will  find  this  genuine  enough," 
declared  Delogne ;  "it  is  in  the  main  a  letter 
from  the  mother  of  the  child.  She  writes  to  the 
abbess  on  the  last  days  she  expects  to  live.  She 
confesses  herself  utterly  friendless  but  for  a  slave- 
girl,  Zizi,  who  may  be  taken  from  her  any  hour  by 
her  relatives,  who  consider  she  has  disgraced  them. 
She  has  no  means  of  proving  her  marriage,  but  de 
clares  that  she  is  a  wife.  And  here  is  a  note  signed 
by  Mother  Agnace,  saying,  'This  letter  is  from 
the  mother  of  the  child  Denise,  whom  she  in  this 
testament  wishes  to  be  reared  in  the  convent,  and 
later  take  the  veil,  as  her  life  in  the  world,  a 
woman  child  and  nameless,  would  be  one  of  sorrow 
and  of  shame.'  ' 

The  pale,  beautiful  nun  had  involuntarily  arisen, 


316  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

with  a  low  cry,  as  those  lines  were  quoted.  Denise 
caught  her  hand,  and  found  her  trembling  so  she 
could  scarcely  stand. 

"Oh,  continue  —  continue!"  she  muttered.  Her 
agitation  was  much  greater  than  that  of  Denise. 

"  More,"  went  on  Delogne.  "  The  abbess  of  that 
day,  Mother  Agnace,  affirms  that  she  knew  the 
writer  of  this  letter  from  her  childhood,  and  firmly 
believes  in  the  statement  that  she  was  at  some  time 
married,  though  circumstances  were  such  that  she 
was  forced  to  live  and  die  under  the  name  of  Made 
moiselle  Felice  Henriette  St.  Malo." 

"Master!"  cried  the  slave-woman,  warningly, 
but  too  late. 

He  arose,  looking  at  them  with  a  deathlike  face. 

"  Felice  —  my  wife  !  Our  child,  then  —  our  own 
child,  that  I  signed  away  for  this  hunger  of  venge 
ance.  Oh,  my  God  !  " 

They  thought  him  mad.  Denise  arose  and  stood 
beside  the  nun. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Oh,  tell  me, 
some  one !  I  am  not  a  slave,  then  —  I  am  not  a 
slave?  " 

But  Delogne,  looking  from  the  strange  face  of 
Venda  to  that  of  her  master,  doubted  his  madness. 
He  remembered  too  well  a  story  told  him  by 
Lamort  —  that  story  of  the  exile. 

"  Your  child  ?  Be  careful  what  you  say,  for  there 
are  listeners.  Your  child,  Monsieur  Lamort?  " 

"  Not  that  name,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  the 
quest  I  borrowed  it  for  is  dead  from  this  hour.  The 
vengeance  I  have  followed  for  years  has  turned  a 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  317 

weapon  against  my  own  heart.  Zizi,  you  were  faith 
ful.  Bring  tc  me  my  daughter ;  bring  to  me  also  the 
priest  from  the  country  of  the  red  men.  He  knows 
if  Felice  St.  Malo  was  a  wife  or  not.  He  must  tell 
these  people,  every  one  must  know,  and  then  my 
child  and  I  will  sail  far  out  to  lands  like  paradise. 
Oh,  my  child,  my  child !  " 

"  Ah ! "  —a  field  of  unrivaled  expanse  spread 
before  Zanalta  as  he  realized  who  Lamort  must  be 
to  have  been  married  to  Felice  St.  Malo  — "  monsieur, 
if  I  am  on  the  right  track  at  last,  you  and  I  were 
rivals  once,  and  you  have  played  me  some  ghostly 
pranks  since.  All  at  once  a  veil  has  dropped  from 
my  eyes,  and  I  see  I  was  blind  never  to  suspect 
until  now,  for  your  voice  was  often  a  puzzle  to  me  ; 
but  we  can  not  afford  to  be  enemies,  you  and  I,  and 
if  Denise  is  your  daughter  I  present  myself  as  a 
suitor." 

Monsieur  Lamort  seemed  not  to  hear.  Delogne 
touched  his  shoulder,  and  when  he  turned  Denise 
was  standing  beside  him  with  her  hands  held  out 
and  all  her  face  aglow. 

He  dropped  his  head  on  her  shoulder  with  a  sob. 
He  had  withstood  all  the  cruel  blows  of  years  and 
made  no  outcry,  but  at  the  sweet  lingering  of  his 
child's  hands  about  his  face  his  heart  seemed  to 
break. 

"  And  you  forgive  me !  Oh,  child !  I  never 
dreamed  there  was  aught  in  this  world  left  to  me 
but  to  harden  my  heart  and  crush  the  people  who 
had  hurt  your  adored  mother  and  me.  It  is  over 
now.  We  will  go  away  from  here  —  you  and  I  and 


318  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

faithful  Zizi.  I  am  bewildered  with  my  joy.  Speak 
to  me,  Denise ;  tell  me  you  are  glad." 

"  I  would  not  know  how  to  find  words  enough," 
she  said,  with  smiles  and  hands  caressing  him.  "  I 
have  scarce  heard  how  it  is  that  you  have  announced 
yourself  my  father,  but  I  accept  it  without  question, 
and  am  happy." 

Then  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Delogne.  "  It  was 
you  who  said  to  me, '  Your  father  wants  you,'  and  you 
will  always  be  my  friend  because  of  those  words." 

Lamort  smiled  into  Delogne 's  eyes.  "  Is  that  not 
better  than  a  plantation  ?"  he  asked  ;  "but  perhaps 
the  plantation  will  come  to  you  too  —  but  not  that 
one,"  and  he  nodded  to  the  survey  of  the  Royal 
Grant.  "  I  am  done  warring.  Take  back  your 
scrolls,  Diego  Zanalta.  It  was  your  land  I  would  have 
stripped  you  of  by  that  survey  ;  but  it  is  all  over.  I 
have  found  Denise ;  and  you,  Maurice,  shall  not  be 
the  loser.  Come  now,  my  child ;  we  will  see  good 
Father  Luis  and  let  you  learn  how  I  came  to  be 
your  father." 

The  slave-woman  had  but  entered  the  room  of 
palms  on  her  errand  to  the  aged  priest  when  she 
saw  him  in  a  group  gathered  about  the  form  of 
Sister  Andrea,  who  had  suddenly  swooned.  Madame 
Ninon  held  her  head  on  her  knees,  while  the  priest 
fanned  her  and  whispered  prayers  over  the  form 
that  looked  so  lifeless.  Monsieur  Raynel  had  been 
dispatched  for  water. 

"  May  I  help?"  asked  the  slave.  "  Pardon,  little 
madame,  but  all  that  cloth  is  too  much  about  her 
face  and  throat  —  if  you  could  loosen  it  — 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  319 

But  Ninon  drew  back.  It  seemed  to  her  a  sac 
rilege  to  disturb  the  garb  of  a  devotee. 

Venda  herself  pushed  back  the  bands  from  about 
the  face,  and  as  she  did  so  the  light  for  the  first 
time  fell  clearly  across  the  closed  eyes,  and  with  a 
loud  cry  the  slave  fell  on  her  knees. 

"  Oh-a-mc  !  oh-a-me  !  little  mistress  !  my  little 
mistress  !  "  She  rocked  herself  in  a  very  ecstasy  of 
excitement.  "  Oh,  master —  Master  Basil !  May  your 
God  strike  Zizi  dead  if  she  knew.  They  at  the  con 
vent  said  child  died,  and  I  took  the  word  back  to  little 
mistress,  and  she  went  crazy.  Oh,  master  !  that  not 
fault  of  Zizi.  Then  Mistress  Marie  Solle  sent  me  back 
to  town  house,  for  reason  that  I  love  little  Mistress 
Felice  too  well.  Then  by  and  by  word  come  that 
my  Mistress  Felice  dead  and  buried  way  out  there 
on  the  plantation.  Oam-tne  !  that  make  my  heart 
ache!  Nothing  left  for  Zizi  to  love  then,  and  Zizi 
seem  to  die,  and  the  white  wool  come  on  her  head. 
No  one  was  left  alive  and  kind  but  you,  my  master, 
far  away  —  away  from  Zizi,  where  she  never  can 
kneel  to  you ;  and  each  time  she  think  of  you  in 
all  the  years,  the  wool  get  more  and  more  white, 
like  when  the  old,  old  years  come  on  heads.  And 
all  the  time  I  never  was  told  little  mistress  was  alive 
in  the  world." 

She  was  groveling  at  the  feet  of  Monsieur  Lamort 
while  she  uttered  all  the  passionate  disjointed  sen 
tences.  All  looked  at  her  in  affright,  for  they  could 
see  no  cause  for  her  cries.  She  was  between  her 
master  and  the  figure  on  the  floor,  and  he  could  not 
see  the  face  of  the  woman  there,  only  the  garb  of 
a  nun. 


V 


320  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

"  Be  silent,"  he  said,  and  dropped  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  "  You  shall  tell  me  some  other  time  how  it 
was  you  took  my  daughter  to  the  convent  gate.  You 
have  served  me  well.  I  will  not  forget." 

She  drew  aside  at  his  bidding,  and  sat  there 
crouched  against  the  wall,  watching  him  with  a 
strange  yearning  in  her  eyes. 

u  Zizi  has  served  you  well,  has  she  ?  "  she  muttered 
to  herself.  "  Zizi  served  you  well  —  oh,  my  master !  " 

Lamort  released  Denise  when  she  perceived  Sister 
Andrea  there  on  the  cushions,  and  she  was  watching 
anxiously  for  the  bits  of  color  coming  back  to  the 
lips. 

"  Dear  Sister  Andrea,"  she  said,  with  great  tender 
ness,  as  the  eyes  of  the  nun  opened  and  gazed  at 
her  dreamily,  as  if  scarce  awake,  "  you  have  made 
yourself  ill  over  my  sorrows  and  joys  ;  but  the  joys 
are  so  sweet  now,  you  need  only  rejoice  with  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  nun,  with  her  eyes  still  on  the 
happy  face  of  the  girl.  "  Do  not  mention  his  name, 
but  only  kiss  me  for  him." 

"  She  is  not  yet  conscious  of  where  she  is,"  whis 
pered  Denise  to  the  priest;  but  he,  with  a  long  look 
at  the  two,  arose  tremblingly,  a  frail,  weather-beaten 
old  man,  but  with  the  light  of  a  strong  soul  shining 
through  his  eyes. 

He  walked  over  to  Lamort,  who  had  just  ceased 
speech  to  Zizi,  and  who  reached  his  hand  eagerly  to 
the  priest. 

"  Pardon  me,  father,  if  I  have  scarce  heeded  your 
presence  or  that  of  the  nun  who  was  companion  to 
my  child ;  but  you,  to  whom  all  my  life  is  known, 


ONCE    MORE   ZIZI.  321 

will  understand  what  finding  my  child  —  the  child 
of  Felice  —  means  to  me.  In  truth,  I  feel  like 
one  in  a  dream.  And  I  was  just  about  to  visit 
you,  that  you  might  tell  our  daughter  how  it 
chanced  we  were  wed  in  secret,  and  how  — 

"Yes — yes,  we  will  tell  her  in  good  time," 
assented  Father  Luis ;  "  but  just  now  there  is  one 
other  thing  of  which  I  would  speak,  my  son.  Your 
wedding  was  secret  in  that  year  long  past ;  but  the 
man  who  was  you  long  ago  is  legally  dead  by  the 
records,  so  you  tell  me.  Why,  if  Felice  yet  lived, 
could  you  not  claim  her  now,  with  all  your  world  for 
witness?" 

"  Why  ?  Father,  do  you  know  how  a  man  can 
suffer  if  asked  that  question  when  the  object  of  his 
love  has  passed  up  above  life's  claims?  To  claim 
her  before  the  world  !  Yes,  if  she  yet  lived  —  yes,  a 
thousand  times.  Oh,  you  know  —  you  know  !  Why 
do  you  speak  like  this  to-night?"  And  he  dropped 
his  head  on  the  high-carved  cabinet,  hiding  his  face 
as  though  to  conceal  tears. 

"  Come ! "  said  the  priest,  and  took  his  hand  as 
though  leading  a  child  ;  with  a  gesture  he  waved 
back  Madame  Ninon  and  the  two  young  gentlemen 
from  the  couch  where  the  nun  lay.  "  Sit  you  still, 
my  child,"  he  said  to  Denise  ;  "  they  may  want  you 
as  a  witness  this  time." 

"  They  ? "  Lamort  had  walked  where  he  was  led, 
not  seeing,  because  of  bitter,  longing  tears  that 
could  not  be  cleared  from  his  eyes  in  an  instant ; 
then  he  was  conscious  that  Denise  was  kneeling 

beside  the  couch. 
21 


322  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

And  on  the  couch  ! 

He  stepped  back,  with  a  cry  akin  to  horror,  it  was 
so  piercing,  and  stared  at  the  face  there  as  though 
frozen  and  mute. 

And  then  the  sweet-faced  nun  reached  out  her 
hand. 

"  Basil,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  not  dead,  though  I 
thought  all  else  was  dead  for  me." 

Silently  he  gathered  her  in  his  arms,  great  tears 
falling  on  her  face  as  he  kissed  her ;  but  he  spoke 
no  word,  and  she  seemed  to  expect  none ;  they  were 
together  with  content. 

"It  is  your  mother,"  said  the  priest  to  the  won 
dering  Denise  ;  and  the  woman  she  had  called  "  sis 
ter  "  reached  a  hand  to  her. 

"  Could  we  have  loved  each  other  better  had  we 
known?  "she  asked;  and  the  fond  kiss  of  Denise 
said  "  no." 

And  over  against  the  wall  still  sat  the  slave- 
woman,  rocking,  and  watching  like  a  figure  of  fate 
first  Lamort  and  then  Zanalta,  waiting  for  some 
thing  she  felt  was  coming. 

And  the  eyes  of  Zanalta  saw  that  embrace,  and 
he  heard  again  "  Basil  "-—and  "  Basil "  whispered  in 
utter  fondness. 

"  Who  is  it — what  does  it  all  mean?"  asked  Ma 
dame  Ninon,  in  half-fear  of  the  wild  emotions  surg 
ing  around  her.  She  was  clinging  to  the  arm  of 
Constante,  in  all  forgetfulness  of  her  late  pique. 

The  priest  heard  her  question,  and  spoke  from  the 
head  of  the  couch  where  he  stood  with  hands 


ONCE   MORE   ZIZI.  323 

stretched  out  over  the  group  there  as  though  in 
blessing  —  a  great  joy  shining  in  his  aged  eyes  : 

"  Eighteen  years  ago  the  hands  of  this  man  and 
this  woman  were  joined  by  me  in  marriage.  They 
were  but  a  youth  and  maiden  then,  and  each  dear 
to  my  heart.  We  have  drifted  wide  apart  since 
those  days,  and  whispers  arose  against  her  fair 
fame  in  this  town  of  Orleans.  But  here,  with  their 
child  as  witness,  I,  Brother  Luis,  declare  that  Felice 
St.  Malo  was  made  the  honest  wife  of  this  man. 
Let  no  breath  of  shame  ever  again  touch  the  air 
about  her." 

But  Zanalta,  followed  by  the  watchful  eyes  of  the 
black  woman,  stepped  nearer  the  man  known  so 
long  as  Victor  Lamort,  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Monsieur  Basil  de  Bayarde,  you  do  not  reply.  I 
make  offer  of  my  hand  and  name  for  your  daughter." 

"  My  daughter  shall  make  her  own  choice  of  a 
husband,"  said  the  other  without  raising  his  head. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  that  you  may  yet  need  a 
friend  on  this  island  of  Orleans  ?  Where  will  you 
find  so  able  a  one  as  myself  to  fight  the  things  you 
must  fight  when  word  gets  abroad  that  you  are 
here  ?  Come,  we  need  each  other  —  you  and  I ; 
what  bond  so  strong  as  your  daughter?  " 

But  the  other  waved  him  away  by  a  gesture  of 
disdain,  and  Madame  Villette  laid  a  persuasive  hand 
on  the  arm  of  Zanalta. 

"  Come,  Diego,  it  is  best  for  you  to  be  in  your  own 
house,  is  it  not  ?  From  what  I  have  heard  here  you 
do  not  seem  to  play  a  pretty  part  in  the  affairs  of 


324  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

our  neighbors  ;  and  as  you  wished  but  to-day  that  I 
make  purchase  of  your  estate  here  and  leave  you 
free  to  roam  for  a  season,  I  think  it  well  now  to  give 
assent  to  your  wish  ;  and  I  fancy  also  that  the 
farther  you  sail  the  happier  will  be  those  who  do 
not  sail  with  you." 

But  he  broke  loose  from  her  fingers,  with  an  oath. 

"I  do  not  sail  until  I  have  stripped  that  galley- 
slave  of  a  part  of  his  wealth,"  he  declared,  with  a 
cruel  laugh.  "  Wife,  daughter,  and  landed  estates, 
eh  ?  Well,  my  man,  I  will  put  you  back  in  your 
chains  again  or  die  trying ;  for  you  are  Basil  de 
Bayarde,  an  outlaw,  whose  life  is  forfeit  to  the 
crown.  You  are  the  man  who  in  these  gardens  did 
eighteen  years  ago  murder  Gaston  le  Noyens." 

"No!" 

In  his  fury  he  had  forgotten  the  slave-woman 
coiled  there  like  a  crouching  animal,  and  so  strange 
a  light  in  her  eyes  as  she  arose  to  her  feet. 

"  He  did  not,"  she  said,  in  a  strange  level  tone. 
All  the  color  and  excitement  was  gone  from  it  now; 
but  as  Zanalta  made  a  step  to  her  she  smiled  quietly 
and  showed  in  her  hand  the  slim,  wicked-looking 
dagger  Madame  Ninon  had  identified  but  awhile 
before.  "  You  will  keep  away,  Master  Diego,  until 
I  speak  —  I,  Venda,  once  called  Zizi  in  this  house 
long  ago.  That  man,"  and  she  pointed  to  her  master, 
"  has  felt  pain  enough  in  his  heart  —  no  more.  For 
years  he  has  ached  under  a  load  a  coward  woman  let 
him  bear  because  the  blackness  of  death  made  her 
afraid,  and  she  loved  to  live  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
But  I  will  tell  you,  old  master,  whom  the  people 


ONCE   MORE    ZIZI.  325 

call  Father  Luis  — open  your  ears  and  hear,  for  you 
are  the  church  witness.  To  the  land  where  my  peo 
ple  ruled  came  one  of  your  race  when  I  was  a  girl, 
young  as  that,"  and  she  pointed  to  Denise.  "  Slaves 
were  bought  from  us  and  decoyed  to  the  decks  of 
their  boat,  but  one  went  bound  only  by  the  love  of 
her  lover.  She  was  not  of  the  slave  caste.  She  trusted 
when  he  said  that  on  his  shores  she  should  rule  as  on 
her  own.  She  dreamed  the  dreams  he  taught  her,  for 
she  was  a  child  —  not  more.  On  his  own  shores  he 
was  called  Le  Noyens,  and  he  was  false.  He  placed 
her  like  the  slaves  in  his  house,  and  when  she  was 
hurt  in  her  pride  and  cried  out  against  it,  then  what 
did  he?  The  arms  he  had  caressed  were  bound 
with  chains.  The  shoulder  he  had  kissed  was 
burned  deep  with  an  iron,  as  they  brand  slaves  for 
evil  deeds  —  you  see  ? "  And  she  bared  her  shoulder 
that  they  might  see  the  cruel  stamp  of  the  fleur-de- 
lis.  "  It  was  burned  so  with  that  sign  of  a  king  who 
lived  across  the  water,  and  she  took  her  vengeance 
when  it  came  to  her,  and  he  died  from  a  knife  in  her 
hand.  That  man,  Diego  Zanalta,  saw  it.  He  has 
known  the  truth  all  these  years  —  the  years  when  I 
was  a  coward.  That  is  over.  Oh,  my  master,  my 
master !  I  can  see  you  suffer  no  more.  You  shall 
never  more  stand  before  the  judges.  Nor  will  Zizi 
ever  wear  their  chains  again,  though  I  confess.  I 
ask  you  all  to  hear.  I  killed  Gaston  le  Noyens  —  so  ! 
-  in  pay  for  —  the  gift  he  —  he  gave  me  —for  this 
flower  of  —  France." 

The    slender   dagger   was   driven    to    the   ivory 
handle  in  her  own  bosom  ere  any  of  them  guessed 


326  A   FLOWER   OF   FRANCE. 

her  design;  and  her  eyes  —  devoted,  appealing  — 
turned  to  the  man  who  had  borne  her  guilt,  but  for 
whom  she  now  was  dying. 

"  Zizi !  Zizi !  our  poor  Zizi !  "  he  moaned,  and 
raised  her  head,  while  Felice  sped  to  her  side,  weep 
ing  and  caressing  her  brown  hands. 

The  dying  slave  gazed  at  her  mistress  and  at 
Denise.  "  Good-by,  little  white  one,"  she  said,  and 
then  rested  her  white-crowned  head  fondly  against 
the  arm  of  Basil  de  Bayarde  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  all  the  unspeakable  devotion  that  had  oppressed 
and  ennobled  her. 

"My  master!"  she  whispered,  and  then  all  was 
still ;  and  Basil  de  Bayarde  raised  in  his  arms  a 
dead  woman  —  a  dead  woman  who  had  at  last  lifted 
the  cloud  from  his  life  and  the  lives  of  his  loved 
ones. 

And  in  all  the  sunshine  and  honor  of  the  years 
that  followed  he  never  forgot  her. 

FINALE. 

Is  it  needful  to  say  that  Ninon  recovered  from 
her  pique  and  shared  her  whims  and  her  poverty 
with  Constante  for  many  a  year  ?  She  also  succeeded 
in  persuading  Diego  that  departure  from  Louisiana 
was  the  one  bit  of  wisdom  left  to  him,  and  he, 
together  with  Senora  Mercedes  Sofie  Zanalta,  took 
ship  together  for  Spain. 

Denise  did  indeed  sail  in  the  Sea  Gull,  much  as 
Don  Zanalta  had  arranged,  except  that  he  was  not 
of  the  party.  But  Ninon  was  there  with  her  fiance, 
and  Chevalier  Delogne  was  ever  within  whispering 


ONCE   MORE   ZIZI.  327 

distance,  and  even  Father  Luis  was  with  them  in 
their  holidays ;  while  those  two  older  hearts,  sepa 
rated  long  ago  by  a  tragedy,  and  beside  a  tragedy 
united,  paced  the  deck  of  their  pleasure-ship  many 
a  starlight  night,  and  took  up  again  the  thread  of 
their  love-story  —  a  love  never  forgotten  by  the  nun 
Sister  Andrea  or  the  exiled  ranger  De  Bayarde. 

And  over  the  water  would  sound  sometimes  the 
tones  of  a  violin,  and  the  young  people  would  listen 
in  wonder  to  the  wild  sweet  notes  flung  out  over  the 
sea,  and  would  slip  away  in  a  group  to  whisper  of 
the  eerie  spell  it  wove  around  them.  They  could 
seldom  laugh  or  dance  when  Monsieur  De  Bayarde 
played  thus  in  the  dark.  It  was  the  only  remnant  of 
expression  he  retained  of  those  long  years  of  sorrow. 
But  Felice  understood,  and  her  gentle  caressing 
hands  would  lead  him  away  from  the  dark  thoughts 
of  the  past ;  though  she  never  heard  of  that 
other  wild  musician  and  gamester  who  had  once 
walked  the  same  deck,  for  though  the  sailors  of  the 
vessel  were  the  same  men,  they  were  faithful,  and 
cared  little  by  what  title  it  pleased  their  captain  to 
be  known. 

So  Rochelle  was  heard  of  no  more,  and  only  to 
Zizi's  love  had  his  secret  been  known  —  Zizi,  who  lay 
in  the  tomb  with  that  pierced  coin  on  her  breast, 
and  above  her  a  marble  put  there  by  Basil  and  his 
wife  Felice. 

And  on  it  was  cut  the  name  "  Zizi,"  and  below 
that  the  sculptured  graceful  lines  of  the  fleur-de-lis. 

THE   END. 


MARAH  ELLIS  RYAN 

Issued  in  the  Rialto  Series.    50  Cents  Each. 

FOR     SALE     BY     ALL    BOOKSELLERS. 


SQUAW    ELOUISE. 

Vigorous,  natural,  entertaining.— Boston  Times. 

A  notable  performance.— Chicago  Tribune. 

No  one  can  fail  to  become  interested  in  the  narrative.— Chicago  Mail. 

A  very  strong  story  indeed.— Chicago  Times. 

Marah  Ellis  Ryan  is  always  interesting.— Rocky  Mountain  News. 

A    PAGAN    OF   THE   ALLEGHANIES. 

A  story  of  mountain  life  of  remarkable  interest.— Louisville  Times. 
Full  of  exciting  interest. — Toledo  Blade. 
A  genuine  art  work. — Chicago  Tribune. 

TOLD    IN    THE    HILLS. 

Beautifully  pictured.— Chicago  Times. 

The  word-painting  is  superb. — Lowell  Times. 

One  of  the  cleverest  stories  that  has  been  issued  in  many  a  moon 

Kansas  City  Times. 

IN    LOVE'S    DOMAINS. 

A  TRILOGY. 

It  is  an  entertaining  book,  and  by  no  means  an  unprofitable  one.— Boston 
Times. 

There  are  imagination  and  poetical  expression  in  the  stories,  and  readers 
will  find  them  interesting. — New  York  Sun. 

An  unusually  clever  piece  of  work.-  Charleston  News. 

MERZE;   THE  STORY  OF  AN  ACTRESS. 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED. 

We  can  not  doubt  that  the  author  is  one  of  the  best  living  orators  of  her 
sex.  The  book  will  possess  a  strong  attraction  for  women.— Chicago  Herald. 

This  is  the  story  of  the  life  of  an  actress,  told  in  the  graphic  style  of  Miss 
Ryan.  It  is  very  interesting.  —New  Orleans  Picayune. 

A  book  of  decided  literary  merit,  besides  moral  tone  and  vigor.— Public 
Opinion,  Washington,  D.  C. 

It  is  an  exciting  tragical  story.— Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 


RAND,  MCNALLY  &  Co,,  PUBLISHERS, 

CHICAGO    AND    NEW    YORK. 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

OVERDUE. 


NOV  17  1941 K 


_^- 


LD  21-100m-7,'40 (6936s) 


M24632 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


